


Glitched

by thedarkenedkeeper



Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Jacksepticeye (RPF), Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Demonic Possession, Feels, Hallucinations, Horror, Mutilation, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Self-Mutilation, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Surgery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 130,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkenedkeeper/pseuds/thedarkenedkeeper
Summary: In October of 2016, Antisepticeye decided to show himself and get our attention.He gained control of Jack and from then onward, has been in control. However, as the months go by, our glitching creation begins to notice the change in the community. With each month, nearing August 3rd, he becomes convinced that we, the community, are to blame for everything - we are the true villains - and Anti will do whatever he can to prove it to not only Jack and the egos but to us as well.We have unknowingly created a monster and that monster wants revenge.





	1. Broken

It was dark – blacker than black in the room. 

And cold – very cold but not to the point of being icy.

No, this was the sort of cold that you could easily feel creeping up along your spine and chilling you to the very core – that feeling of unease you get when you feel like you’re being watched and you know something is very wrong.

And something was indeed very wrong.

The clattering of chains and heavy labored breaths of desperation and frustration echoed throughout the darkened hell. The green-haired Irishman behind a set of bars grasped at the chains linking both his wrists and ankles to the nearest wall and yanked with all the strength he could muster. No budge. Those chains weren’t coming loose no matter how hard he tried. He hissed in agony at feeling the shackles rub and dig deeper into the skin around his wrists and ankles, causing him to instantly release the chains and collapse to the ground. He lifted his shaky hands to get a good look. Those paled joints were bloodied and blistered horribly, some caked old blood from the first few attempts he’d made, while new blood was beginning to surface.

“F-Fuck.” It came out as a dry, raspy stutter, dread very evident in his voice.

He glanced up at the bars before returning his eyes to the chains. How long had it been? How long had he been here, chained up like an animal? He had lost track. And he honestly didn’t want to know the answer.

Faintly, footsteps could be heard coming towards him and with no warning, a creaky door flew open, a flash of blinding white light flooding into the room. Jack instantly pushed himself backward into the darkness, lifting a scarred hand to shield his eyes. He could barely see, but he managed to make out a dark silhouetted man stroll into the room, closing the door behind him. And as soon as that door closed, an eerie yet soft bone-chilling giggle rang throughout the room. His eyes widened. He knew that giggle anywhere.

“What’s so funny?” He demanded, sitting upright now and searching the room with his eyes, trying to spot the man.

Jack could easily hear the mirth in the figure’s voice when he spoke, taking a few slow steps towards the cage.

 **“Your so-called ‘loyal and loving fans’ are really something else, Jackaboy. I may have underestimated them.”**

“What’re you talking about?” The Irishman snapped, not at all pleased with the demon mentioning his fanbase. “What have you done to them? What have you done?!”

A deeply amused chuckle came from the figure as he stood before the cage, peering through the bars to get a good look at his prisoner. **“What makes you think I’ve done anything to them?”**

“What have you done, Anti?!” 

The demon only smirked and turned his gaze elsewhere. **“Who said anything about me doing anything to them? I haven’t done anything.”** Though he couldn’t see it, Jack could easily imagine Anti’s smile stretching further into a wicked grin. **“It’s your community you should be questioning.”**

There was a beat. And Jack didn’t like it, not one bit. There was something very seriously wrong with what Anti just said, especially with the way he was acting and how he had said it. However long he had been locked up here in this cage, Jack knew how Anti behaved and normally managed to jump to conclusions easily. But this time….there was something so unsettling about what he said that Jack couldn’t even begin to piece together what he meant. Managing to make out the shape of the demon’s head in the darkness, the Irishman stared at him out of both puzzlement and suspicion.

“What?” He gave himself a pause to give him a moment to think. _He’s playing with you, you know that,_ He thought. _He’s trying to use the community against you to bring you down. Don’t fall for it._ He shook his head. “What do you mean by that?”

 **“Oh you know exactly what I mean.”** Anti gave a fake gasp of shock. **“Oh but wait! That’s right, you are just about as bad as them, aren’t you? Living in denial and such.”** He cocked his head in his direction, his neck glitching out and causing a cringe-worthy crack to emit from the gesture. **“Ain’t that right, Jack?”**

“What the hell are you getting at, Anti? Just get on with it!” The YouTuber shouted, slamming his cold and beat-up hands against the bars of the cage. “Stop wasting your time! If you want to kill me, why don’t you just do it already? What could POSSIBLY be holding you back, you fucking bastard?!”

There was a moment of dreadful silence, only the sound of Jack’s weak panting able to be heard. Twenty long and very painful seconds went by before the glitch gave a reply.

**“I gave them a choice, Jack…I gave them a chance to redeem themselves.”**

Confusion and fear swelled into a hybrid of emotion deep in Jack as he looked at his captor. He let out a shaken breath. “Wha-? What the hell are you - ?”

Very suddenly, Anti whipped around and crouched down to eye level with Jack, his face an inch away from his. Jack could easily see the sinister glee upon his face now.

 **“You’re not stupid, Jack. You think I don’t want to kill you? Believe me, I want to. I want to end you. Slit your sweet little throat,”** He raised a hand and slowly ran his thumb along the wide-open gash on his own throat, **“wide open and let you bleed out.”**

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and let out a shaken breath, watching Anti’s thumb before meeting his eyes again.

 **“But you know me, I like to have a little bit of fun with things like this. So I decided to go and give your fans a choice: Step back and watch good ol’ Anti slice and dice their hero or make a move and save dear Jackaboy.”** The grin on his face stretched impossibly wide, giving the appearance of a frightening jack o’ lantern now.

A beat. A painful one at that. A wave of anxiety immediately came over Jack as he stared directly into those soul-devouring eyes. He shook his head.

“S-So what? What, you think they’ll side with you? They’d never do that, they’d never let you hurt me – EVER. They care about me, they’ll fight for me!”

A shrill unnerving burst of laughter came from Anti as he threw his head back, causing the green-haired Irishman to flinch and reel back from the bars. The demon’s eyes locked back onto him.

 **“Oh you have no idea just how wrong you are, Jackie. Do you not remember what happened in October?”** He leaned forward. **“I gave them a choice – the very same one. Save Jack or let him die. Now…which one do you suppose they chose, hmm?”**

The anxiety the YouTuber had been feeling was ever so quickly beginning to transform into full-blown fear. His eyes slowly widened at what Anti was getting at. He was now finally seeing where this was going. He shook his head violently.

“ No…No, no, NO! You’re wrong! They care, I know they do!”

 **“Oh really? Is that so?”** The glitchy demon challenged. **“Because I gave an announcement just the other day, encouraging them all to create a bunch of fan art and you know what that’ll do, don’t you?”**

Jack’s eyes were as wide as saucers now, knowing all too well what that meant. “No…”

 **“Oh yes. And here’s the kicker, Jackie: A lot of them have concluded it’s exactly what I need to emerge and take control fully. They know this, they know what’s coming, and yet…”** He stopped himself, choking on a laugh at the notion of the thought, **“yet they have gone and proceeded with exactly what I wanted.”** Jumping to his feet, Anti pushed himself away from the bars and stood a few feet away from the cage. **“I mean, just LOOK at what your ‘loving community’ has done for you, Jack!”** With a flick of the wrist, a patch of darkness turned into a bunch of static, pulling back to reveal every single piece of fan art Jack’s fanbase had made in the past few days.

Jack couldn’t get himself to speak. Page after page was filled with fan art, a vast majority of it consisting of Anti. There were too many pieces involving Anti being the center of attention. Too many…Too many…

 **“So my question to you, my dear ol’ friend: Do you think they still care about you? Because I don’t know about you, but,”** The mirthful creature couldn’t contain his chuckle, **“if they truly did care about you, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have gone and done what they did.”**

Snapping himself out of his dazed state, the Irishman licked his dry lips and barely managed to get out his response. “There’s still time to fix this. They’re smart, they’ll figure something out.” He sounded desperate, like he truly wanted to believe his own words…but he was struggling in doing so.

Anti threw his head back, another gross crack of his neck reverberating throughout the darkened hell. **“HA! Is that what you honestly think? You really have no idea, do you, Jackie? Are you that blind?”** With lightning-quick speed, the demon glitched right to outside the front of the cage, staring down at his weakened host. **“They created me, Jack. They’re the ones who gave me a form, a face. They’re the ones who gave me life, not you.”** That eerie toothy grin was still plastered on his bone-white face and it sent chills up Jack’s spine when a chuckle came from deep within his slit throat. **“They are my creators…and being that they are my creators…no matter how much they say they love you, how they are on your side and that they hate me…they will ALWAYS come back to me, Jack. They will ALWAYS want to see me in the end.”**

Jack shook his head in disbelief, trying hard to block out what this demonic abomination was hissing to him. There was no way it could be true, it couldn’t be. His fans – the community – they were there for him just as he was there for them; they would never abandon him, they would never give up hope!  
“No…No…”

Anti pressed his face against the bars, getting a better look at the now-cowering heap of flesh named Jack. **“They say they’re on your side, Jackaboy, but if they truly cared, they would’ve saved you long ago. All of this,”** He flung his arms out, gesturing to all around the room, **“wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t be a bother!”** He stopped himself yet again, a fit of laughter racing out through his vocal cords. **“But alas, here we are.”**

A painful pang of betrayal and hurt stabbed the Irishman’s heart at hearing this and he keeled over, gripping his chest and shaking all over at the thought. He shut his eyes tight, trying desperately to ignore the demon’s words. Anti noticed his struggle and chuckled, once more crouching down to eye level to look at Jack quiver. 

**“And you want to know the best part out of all of this, Jackaboy? I’ll tell you. You see, the truth in all of this is that they want to see what I’ll do – to you, the Doc, Brody, all of you. They say they care and want me to back off, but we all know they’re lying.”** He leaned in close, whispering through the bars, **“They’re my creators, Jack…and no matter how much they deny it, they’re curious to know what their creation is capable of. They want to see just how powerful I can be.”** Anti’s eyes flashed a bright dangerous green, his tone shifting to a much deeper inhuman one. **“In a sense….they’re your executioner.”**

That last sentence had the poor green-haired man cringing and reeling back out of horror, forcing himself into the darkest corner of the cage and curling himself into a ball. He couldn’t ignore the words, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head. Was he right, was everything Anti said the truth? Was it over? Had he lost the community to this demon? Did they ever truly care about him? Were they all fans of Anti’s from the very start? They created him after all – a dark, sinister alternate version of himself. What reason would they have to create such a monster other than to cut him out of the picture? It would make sense why they would side with Anti. Maybe he was right....maybe he was just a lab rat in all of this, a test subject for them to release Anti onto like a helpless rabbit falling victim to a rabid dog off its leash. 

The tears started coming and there was no stopping them. He buried his face in his scarred hands and sobbed, feeling both mental and physical pain radiate all throughout his body. Over and over he repeated softly, “No….No….They…They care….I-I know they care….I know they do…” Hanging onto that last string of hope.

With a scoff and a triumphant smirk on his face, Anti stood up and turned on his heel, heading for the exit.

 **“Oh but don’t worry, Jack. I’ll please your fans. It’ll be like you never left.”** He reached the door, grasping the handle. **“They want to see just how powerful I can be….”** His entire being glitched and the tone in his voice changed once more. **“They won’t have to wait much longer.”**

And that was the last haunting statement he made before leaving the weakened Irishman to drown in his sorrow within the darkness.


	2. Save Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is rather dark and oozing with angst and guilt. There is also quite a sudden disturbing scene near the end.
> 
> Also, I'll say this now: I am SO sorry...(not sorry)

Was he alive? Was he truly actually alive?

His heart was beating at a slow, stuttering pace; the rush of stale blood deafening to his ears. Raspy labored breathing – inhaling and exhaling, struggling to get the air he so desperately needed. 

Yes, he was alive. Just barely.

He was growing weak, he knew this. It seemed the longer he remained here in this prison, the more drained and dead he felt. He didn’t know what it was that was causing this. Was this all a result of that wretched demon trying to take control of him? One thing he was certain of: if he didn’t get out of here soon, he would die, whether it by Anti’s own hands or by suffocation of this hell. 

The Irishman struggled to his feet, letting out a shaken breath of frustration as he leaned against the nearest wall. With a trembling bony hand, he reached for the chains attached to the wall and coiled his limp fingers around them. Letting a shallow sigh slip through his lips, he took a step back and tugged as hard as he could, conjuring all the strength he had left. He had tried countless times to break these chains, but time and time again, to no avail. All it gave him were deep cuts and agonizing blisters. He was shedding his own blood in exchange for nothing. He yanked on the chains viciously, teeth clenched and hissing in pain at feeling the metal dig sharply into his skin. He didn’t care; he needed to get out of here. He needed to stop Anti and return to the community.

The community…  
There was a beat. An excruciating one that may as well have felt like a stab wound to the chest. That glitch’s haunting words were clawing into his brain, taunting him and speaking insidious truths. Jack froze, his grip tightening around the chains to the point of breaking the skin. Anti couldn’t be right, he just couldn’t be. He had to have been lying – he had to be saying all of those horrid things just to bring him down to his knees.

But what if…what if they weren’t lies? What if it was true? Did the community no longer love him? Had they given up on him, abandoned him? Had they created Anti just to get rid of him? Was he only a lab rat to them in all of this, just to test what their creation was capable of?

Feeling tears prickle at his eyes, Jack shut them tight as a petite whimper of hurt slipped through the darkness. Having no energy left, he released the chains from his bloodied fingers and pressed his forehead against the brick wall, shaking all over as he struggled to hold back the tears that longed to fall. He didn’t want to believe what that demon had said, but his words…he couldn’t get them out of his head. They were like an echo in his mind, playing over and over again like a broken record that he couldn’t fully break. What if….What if…

He inhaled sharply and coughed violently, keeling over and dry heaving into his hand. He swore the air was becoming polluted somehow, tainted with sin, evil, and blood. Breathing it all in only made him choke every few minutes, and when he pulled his hand back, he was horrified to see a few spots of blood in his palm.  
“N-No…”

Unexpectedly, from off in the distance, someone came bursting through a door, a beam of light slicing through the eternal darkness before the door slammed shut. Jack jerked his head in that direction to very faintly make out a slim masculine figure heading towards his cell. Anti.  
**“Still sobbing over your loyal fanbase, Jackaboy? How pathetic.”**

Jack shot him a glare before returning to what he had been doing originally, pulling on the chains weakly. He barely had any energy remaining and his vision was beginning to swim, and what with how stale the air was, he felt like he’d vomit at any moment. His ears perked at hearing the demon behind him give a faint chuckle at seeing his poor attempt.

 **“Give it a rest already why don’t you. You’re never going to get out of those chains, so you may as well sit back and relax while you can. After all,”** A smirk tugged at his lips, **“you don’t have much time left.”**

At hearing those words, the Irishman stopped what he was doing and turned to face his alter ego, legs staggering as he took a few slow steps forward.

“What do you want, Anti?” He questioned, his voice as dry and scratchy as sandpaper. He coughed harshly, eyeing him weakly. “You’ve already tortured me enough. What else could you possibly want from me?”

Anti merely responded with a devilish smirk. **“I just thought I’d come by and let you know how your lovely community is doing, given the circumstances.”** He leaned forward against the bars. **“They’re right in the palm of my hand, Jackie. I have them right where I want them and they are all so…willing.”** He chuckled in amusement. **“Such obedient puppets.”**

“Shut up…Stop talking about them like that.” Jack shook his head. “You’re wrong about them…You don’t know them like I do…They’ll…” His sentence got cut off by a harsh cough. “Th-They’ll find a way to get me back. They…will find a way to outsmart you.” He lifted his eyes to focus on the demon.

Just as he expected, his words had little effect on the creature. Anti smiled from ear to ear as a sharp laugh came bursting through his lips.

 **“Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie, what a misguided fool you are. Have you already forgotten our last talk?”** He leaned in further and shook his head. **“They’re not on your side – haven’t been for a long time now, actually. They’ve been playing you for some time, getting you to believe they cared. And look at where you are now.”** He grinned, pulling away from the bars. **“A sacrifice to their greatest creation, ready to be slaughtered. Oh if only you could see just how anxious they all are to see me once again. They cannot wait to see me show my true power!”** A chilling giggle rang through the room, sending a shiver up Jack’s spine.

Jack couldn’t reply, it was getting to be too difficult to breathe in here. He stumbled forward and grasped the bars, leaning against them as he breathed in shallow breaths. Anti chuckled.

 **“What’s wrong? Has the hero lost his will to speak?”** He giggled out of amusement, enjoying seeing his host so weak and fragile.

Until he suddenly stopped. Something was wrong, he could sense it. Something was going on with the community.

 **“What the - ?”** Immediately, the demon whirled around and with a snap of his fingers, a patch of darkness glitched out to reveal a series of posts on the internet. He instantly began scrolling through them all in a flurry, one by one, getting increasingly more put off by what he was seeing. **“What the fuck is this?!”** The glitchy demon snapped, his head jerking and twitching violently as he tried to keep his anger at bay.

Straining to keep his head up, let alone focus, the YouTuber lifted his head to see what the demon was going on about. He fixed his eyes onto the screen and to his astonishment, he saw what was agitating the glitch. Post after post had the following hashtag slapped onto them: #septicsave. His eyes widened as much as they possibly could. The community – they were trying to fight back. They were actually trying to get Jack back. He had been right, they did care. They hadn’t given up on him. A small weak smile played at his lips as he saw Anti rush through the posts.

“Looks like…you were wrong.” He scoffed before a violent cough could leave him. “Th-They still do care about me…And…And they will fight for me. The Jacksepticeye community is…is one big family…and family…sticks together.” He glared at Anti, almost a look of challenge. “You-You take away Jack…and they will m-make sure you burn in Hell, you fucker.” He spat.

There was a deafening silence, all safe for a faint growl that could be heard coming from the demon, who was now standing perfectly still in front of the screen. Far too still, actually. Slowly but surely, that growl morphed into a chuckle, and that chuckle contorted into a wicked laugh. Jack’s eyebrows narrowed out of uneasy puzzlement, not understanding what could possibly be amusing the demon. And then he heard it.

**“Did it ever occur to you that maybe this just made matters worse for you?”**

Another painful beat. The way he had said that sounded far too unnerving for words. Those words had slithered out through his bared teeth in one of the most sinister voices the Irishman had ever heard, and quite frankly, it made any hope he had started to feel dissipate almost instantly. He swallowed the lump in his throat and struggled to speak.

“Wh-What do you mean by that?”

His eyes didn’t leave his evil self as he watched him slowly turn to face him, noticing the eerie toothy grin on his dead-white face. Anti’s neck twitched violently, a loud crack emitting from it that caused Jack to take a hesitant step back. Something was off, something was very wrong.

 **“You think they’re trying to save you? You think they’re banding together to get you back?”** Anti couldn’t contain the laughter he was holding back. **“Can you not see what they are doing, Jackaboy?”** With no warning, one moment he was standing in front of the screen, and the next he was right in front of the cage, startling Jack and making him stumble backward and nearly trip over his chains. **“It’s all one big test for me. Those clever fans of yours’, they’re all testing their creation.”** He gave a gleeful laugh. **“And you all say I’M the demented one. HA!”**

The green-haired Irishman only became more confused, still not understanding what the demon was getting at. But given the way he was suddenly acting, he knew it wasn’t at all good. Because if there was anything he learned about Anti, whenever he was happy, it was never about something good.

“A test? Wha-…What do you mean ‘test’?” He asked, fear very evident in his voice and Anti, unfortunately, picked up on it instantly.

The demon grinned at the question. **“Oh…You may not want to know. I mean, you said it yourself. They care about you so much.”** He said mockingly.

“What…What do you mean, damn it?!” He tried to sound menacing, but it only resulted in his hoarse voice cracking and another cough to erupt from his lungs.

 **“They’re taunting me, Jackie. They know if they try to put the attention onto you, then I will become jealous and try to get them back.”** He jerked forward, pressing his forehead to the bars of the cell. **“They’re deliberately trying to upset me so I can go and remove the one in the way of it all,”** His grin stretched terrifyingly wide, **“you.”**

The Irishman felt a sharp pang in his chest at hearing this, and almost instantly, the voices that had been taunting him earlier came back to haunt him. He cringed and shook his head in disbelief, not wanting to believe it. 

“Why…Why would they want to do that?”

 **“Isn’t it already obvious enough? I already told you, they want to see what I’m capable of. I’m their creation after all – they made me the way I am! They can’t stand the wait any longer, so what better way to get my attention and speed up the process than piss me off?!”** He clicked his tongue. **“I have to hand it to them, they really know how to test a demon.”** He chuckled. **“And deceive their friend as well.”**

“Stop it!...Just…Just stop it.” Jack snapped, sounding defeated. He’d had enough of this glitch speaking about his fanbase like this, like they were the enemy. 

**“Now why would I want to do that?”**

“They care….I know…I know them. They care about me and just…just you watch.” He scowled at his darker half, seething through his teeth. “They will end you for good.”

At hearing this, the demon lost control and broke down in a fit of laughter. His pitch black eyes fell onto his prisoner as that same toothy smile stretched across his face.

 **“Oh Jack…I almost feel sorry for you. Trying so hard to grasp onto straws that aren’t there. How pathetic.”** He pressed his face through the bars, not blinking once. **“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”** A dark chuckle came from deep in his slashed throat. **“I’ve sinned an awful lot…Like how I managed to get into your fans’ heads…Each and every one. All of them – infected.”** He stated ever so slowly, punctuating each word venomously. **“What, did you not believe me the first time when I told you that they would always come back to me?”** He giggled with delight. **“I told you they’re in the palm of my hand, Jack, and I meant it. No matter what they say or do, they will always find themselves thinking about me. There’s nowhere to run or hide, no way to deny it. I know they’re all thinking of me, wondering when I’ll actually show my face. Sure, some of them may actually care about you, Heaven knows why…but deep down,”** His signature jack o’ lantern grin reappeared. **“they only want their devious creation to return to the surface.”**

Suddenly feeling a surge of energy fueled by anger, Jack launched himself at the bars, glaring daggers at the abomination. 

“You fucking monster! You’ll pay for this, you’ll - !”

With no warning, a hand shot out through the bars and latched onto his jaw, violently pulling him forward into the bars. He winced and weakly struggled to get out of the demon’s grip, only to stop when he noticed the absolutely terrifying look in Anti’s eyes. He could feel his blood run cold in seconds flat, and he halted at his attempts of getting free.

 **“StOp fUcKiNG CaLLiNg mE ThAt!”** The manifestation screeched, his entire being glitching out and struggling to remain somewhat stable. **“HoW mANy fUCkiNg tiMeS dO I hAvE tO tEll YoU, I Am NOT ThE bAd GUy iN aLL oF ThiS?! ARe yOu tHAt BliNd To sEe iT aLL? OpEn YOuR dAmN eYeS oR I’LL pRy tHeM wiDe OpEn mYSeLf!”** He yanked on his jaw once more, forcing his body to clash against the bars. **“I am not the monster, the real monster has been with you much longer than I ever have. And they will be the death of you, I assure you of that.”** He seethed through clenched teeth.

Anti shoved him away with such force, the poor Irishman tumbled over his chains and collapsed to the ground, hitting the brick wall. He grunted in agony, feeling tears sting at his eyes out of both physical and mental pain. Once again, the damn demon’s words were sinking far too deep into his skull and he was having a hard time convincing himself it was all lies. All at once, the voices came at him, questioning him over and over again.

_Do they care? Do they even love me anymore? Did they truly create this abomination to destroy me? Where did I go wrong? Was it something I said? Something I did? Am I not good enough? They’ve given up, haven’t they? I’m nothing to them. They want to see me hurt…Why do they want to see me hurt? Why do they want to see any of us hurt? Is that all we are, just test subjects to use for Anti to destroy?_

It was too late, the tears were set free, and the more the voices taunted him – the more doubts they gave him – the more convinced he was that there was no hope. He had been forgotten. No one was going to save him or the others. They were all dead men.

“Please…Please s-stop…” He pleaded desperately through his tears. He gazed up at the demon, moving forward to crawl towards the bars, no longer feeling the energy or motivation to get to his feet. “Please…I’m begging you, Anti. I’m b-begging you…Let me go. Let all of us go and leave the community alone, please, I…” He sobbed, licking at the salty tears that ran over his top lip. “I’ll do whatever you want…I’ll do anything you want, I’ll give you some screen time on the channel, you’ll still get the attention you want. Just please…PLEASE…” He cried, begging for the glitch to set him free. He had had enough of the pain. He couldn’t bear it any longer. “Please…Let us go.”

Anti merely smirked with delight, not at all taking pity on the crippled mess pleading at his feet for freedom.

 **“Well I’ll be. Are you actually begging? I quite like it. How cute.”** A static-laced chuckle reverberated off the walls of the room. He sighed and shook his head, grinning. **“No can-do, Jackaboy. It’s too late. The community has always been on my side – from the very beginning – and the only reason I haven’t cut you open yet is because my creators are challenging me. They want to see just how dangerous and strong I am, and I cannot and WILL NOT let them down.”** He took a few steps away from the bars, slowly backing up with his arms stretched out to either side. **“If it’s a show they want, it’s a show they’ll get.”** He chuckled with glee, turning on his heel to head for the exit.

The green-haired YouTuber hung his head low, uncontrollable tears of anguish washing over his cheeks and down to his bloodied hands. When would this pain stop? What would become of him and the other egos?

**“Oh! That reminds me!”**

He sniffled and lifted his head to look at the demon. He watched him turn around, putting his hands in his pockets.

 **“I figure since you don’t have much time left, you deserve to have some company for the next few hours.”** One of his hands was fidgeting inside his pocket, grasping onto something. He pulled out something and chucked it towards Jack, having it land right in front of the cell.

Through the darkness, it was hard to make out what Anti had thrown at him. Though he was already a mess, Jack shuffled forward, inching closer to the bars. His eyes searched the floor for what Anti had thrown and finally he made out something round. He reached through the bars with one hand and grabbed the thing, instantly feeling something slimy produce a squishy sound in his palm and feeling something ooze down his arm. His heart skipped a beat and began to quicken out of fear of what he was holding. Slowly bringing his hand in close to himself, the Irishman let his eyes adjust and focused on what was in his hand. And what he saw made his heart stop.

Anti smirked. **“Thought you’d like to see an old friend.”**

In his hand was a green and blue eyeball – Sam the septic eye – his symbol, his mascot, his loving friend and companion. He lay limp in his palm, not moving, not blinking – nothing. There was a deeply large gash sliced right down the center, blood seeping out and weaving lines of hot sticky red all along Jack’s arms.

He was dead, completely butchered and lifeless.

The emotionally abused Irishman flung back in horror, dropping the diced eyeball in a hurry as he backed up into the brick wall. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the horrific display. His vocal cords took action, and from them came a bloodcurdling scream of horror and gut-wrenching agony.

“NOOOO!! NOOOO!!! SAAAAM!!!”

He hung his head, rocking back and forth, sobbing and repeatedly crying out in horrible pain. Anti watched in awe at the display before him. He smirked with triumph, proud with himself as he opened the door.

 **“Let’s see them try to save you all now.”** Before he left the room, he grinned happily. **“Let the show begin.”**


	3. A Storm is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning: This chapter is rather intense, in-your-face, and quite dark, especially near the end. There is also a very little bit of bloodshed involved as well.
> 
> Enjoy!

Darkness – that’s all he saw now. Nothing but pure black.

Shadows caressed and coiled around his weak and crippling body, chilling him to the bone and draining any hope he had left. This darkness was poisoning him just as bad as that unstable monstrosity’s words. The YouTuber was always known as a cheerful soul filled with so much positive energy, always being there for the community and getting them to have about as much fun as him. It was easy for him to be happy and think positive. 

But not now – not after everything he’d heard, everything he’d seen.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get himself to keep his head up and think of something positive. He had tried countless times telling himself that the community hadn’t given up and were actually making an effort at getting him back, but every single time the thought sparked into his head, the spark would almost instantly burn out; getting torn out of the way by Anti’s ruthless truths. There was barely any light left in the Irishman’s eyes now, the energy slipping from his body the longer he remained caged here. He was convinced now – there was no hope left. 

No one was coming to save him. He would rot in his cell along with his dying beliefs and wishes.

He sat in the corner of his cell, hugging his knees in close to his chest as he struggled to breathe properly. Laying across from him in the dead center of the cell was the corpse of his best friend, Sam, the eyeball still very much dead and unmoving; his severed pupil staring coldly at Jack. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but Jack could’ve sworn it was like the septic eye was looking at him with sadness and agony, almost like he was frightened. The green-haired man let out a shaken raspy breath, staring back at Sam with sore, reddened eyes. When Anti had carelessly tossed the dead optical organ at him, it had seriously left a deep, agonizing scar in Jack’s heart. He had screamed in anguish over his murdered friend for what had felt like hours, crying until he had no tears left to shed, and even then, he had continued to dry heave and sob. His eyes wandered down to his hands, seeing the sticky blood and residue still lining his hands and arms from when he had held Sam. He felt the tears beginning to come back, but he quickly tore his gaze away and closed his eyes, inhaling slowly and unevenly to try and relax his nerves.

Right as he was starting to calm down, he jumped, startled when he heard the main door swing open, hearing someone come storming into the pitch-black room. Jack instantly sat up straight, squinting his eyes and making out a lean figure – Anti – rushing through the darkness, looking quite…angered. Enraged seemed like the more appropriate word, given the way he was acting. His entire being was glitching out spastically, growls and curses leaving him as the ground rippled beneath his feet with each step he took. Jack opened his mouth, almost tempted to ask what was wrong, until his eyes traveled down to see that Anti was armed with his favorite kitchen knife, which was currently getting strangled in his tight grip. The idea instantly escaped Jack’s mind at seeing that knife. If Anti was in a bad mood, while also holding his signature weapon, it would be bloody murder to dare ask him what was wrong.

**“ThOSe fOoLs! THosE DEnsE, aRrOGanT BRaTs! HoW StUPiD aRe THey?! HOw dARE thEy THinK tHey CaN stOp mE – PuT an ENd to aLL oF thIS! I dON’t gEt PUt DowN, I’M tHe onE wHo PUts othErS doWn – THey sHoULD knOw tHIs bY NOW!”** The demon roared, his speech pattern laced with a bunch of static and getting dragged out at times. His motions were getting increasingly more jerky and sharp, his neck twitching violently and causing the gash along his throat to widen slightly.

The Irishman in his cage watched the manifestation jerk and twitch and glitch out back and forth, waving his hands around out of anger, and at one point, he was genuinely worried the enraged creature’s knife was going to slip out of his grasp and come flying directly at him. Luckily, it didn’t. He had never seen Anti this upset before. Every time he had seen the glitch, he always had a devious sadistic grin plastered on his face, one of which managed to make his blood run cold. But seeing him like this – a completely raving lunatic, armed no less….this was truly terrifying. If Anti was already scary being happy, Jack could only imagine what he was like when angered.

Suddenly, with no warning, the demon stopped dead in his tracks, and with a violent snap of his neck, he had his eyes locked on his prisoner – eyes completely black as coals. He shot his hand out, the one wielding the knife, and pointed it directly at the green-haired man. 

**“YoU!”** He seethed harshly through clenched teeth. He stormed towards the cage. **“THey ARe aLl DRowNing iN DeNiAl – YOu aLL ArE! NoNE of YoU sEem tO grAsP the GrEAteR picTuRe iN alL of THis! YOu’Re aLL BliNDinG yOuRSelVEs frOm wHAt’s aCtUaLLy gOinG oN anD iT’s PAthETiC! HoW AM I thE oNlY oNe wHO seEMs tO acTuallY acCepT tHe rEaliTy oF tHe siTuATion?!”** The ground beneath him rippled violently, as did the blackness surrounding him. It seemed like any space around him was glitching and tearing apart at the seams like himself.

Jack straightened up and pressed his back into the wall behind him, feeling his heart begin to race out of fear. Anti was actually truly scaring him at the moment. He was pissed – consumed by rage, and being just how unstable he already was, Jack had absolutely no idea what the demon would do. Was he going to kill him, right here and now? Had he had enough of the wait? He didn’t dare say a word, he simply kept his tired eyes locked on the manifestation, watching his figure increasingly get more and more distorted.

**“ThEY keEp GOinG oN aBOuT hOW tHeY waNt to SAvE yOu – ThAT tHey CAN sAve YOu! THey KeeP iNSisTiNg thEy CaN sToP mE! WhAt The FUcK aRe thEy plAYinG aT? WHo dO theY thInK tHEy’rE kiDDinG AnYMorE? ThEy CaN’t SAvE yOu – thEY wOn’t, aNd they HavE to aCCepT THaT!”** He lashed out with his knife against the bars of the cell, causing Jack to gasp and jump, actually beginning to tremble nervously. The demon growled, his entire face contorted into a menacing look filled with malicious intent. **“THeY’rE mOCkiNg mE nOw, CAlliNg Me THeiR ‘GliTCh BiTCh’!”** He spat with such distaste his whole body shook violently. **“ThEY’rE maKiNg A jOkE ouT oF mE, clAimINg I Don’T haVe tHE gUtS tO sHow MYseLf aNd GEt oN wiTH it ALL! THEy thiNK tHey HoLd ThE poWeR – tHAt beCauSe I’M thEiR crEAtiOn tHat THEY caN coNtRoL mE! WeLL thEY’rE All DEAD wROnG!”** He glared at Jack through the bars, genuinely striking fear into the YouTuber’s body. **“I pULL thE stRiNgs nOw! I’M thE onE in COntRoL, noT thEM! THey MaY waNt tO teST mE anD sEe mY TRue PoWEr, bUt tHEy arE aLL goiNG tO mEEt tHEir OwN hORriFiC fATeS aT thE rAte tHEy’Re GOinG!”**

Jack remained shaking in his corner, watching with wide eyes as Anti ranted on about how the community was a true disappointment to him. He went to open his mouth, actually going to attempt to speak to the demon, but he didn’t get a chance to. Any and all words he was going to say instantly got clogged in his throat, as the unhinged abomination growled and very unexpectedly glitched himself into the cell with Jack, immediately lunging for him. Before the weakened Irishman could react, Anti grabbed him by the hair and yanked on it, pulling him to his feet with incredible strength and then driving the back of his head violently into the wall behind him. Jack, far too weak to scream, let alone fight back, winced and let out a choked gasp of pain, feeling agony throb through the back of his skull. He tiredly looked at Anti, raising his bloodied hands to try and get out of the demon’s grasp, but it was no use. He could feel any and all energy dissipating from his muscles and he barely had it in him anymore to fight.

Anti pulled harshly on his hair, yanking his head back to extend Jack’s neck out to him. With his other hand, he brought his knife to the green-haired man’s throat and pressed the blade to his flesh, applying just enough pressure to make the skin break. Jack gasped at the sudden sharp pain, eyes widening in horror and his whole body going still. One wrong move and he would end up with the exact same gash on his throat as Anti. He immediately locked eyes with his alter ego, his heart racing wildly and his raspy breathing coming out rather panicky. Those demonic soulless eyes staring right back at him were filled with nothing but hatred and rage and a terrifying burst of fire that clearly screamed ‘murderous intent’. 

“A-Anti…?” Jack choked out, hoping like hell this wasn’t the end for him.

The unstable demon glitched spastically, his head jerking violently to the right, then the left, before he growled and pressed the knife against his jugular a tad bit harder. **“I shOUlD fuCkiNG KiLL yOu RigHt NoW! FuCK tHe wAiT! I’M doNe wAiTinG! I’vE wAiTeD loNG eNouGh fOr tHiS! ThEY waNt A shOW, tHEy wANt to SeE mE cAUsE hAVoC, then tHaT’s wHAt thEY’ll GeT! I’LL coMPleTelY bUTCher YOuR wEAk, SOrrY aSs uNTiL thERe’S nOThiNg lEFt tO sLiCe!”** He hissed through his teeth, the tone in his voice changing drastically from deep and demonic to high-pitched and sharp.

A faint whimper slipped from Jack’s lips at feeling the blade press deeper into his skin. He didn’t move a muscle, fear pulsating through his veins at a rapid pace. This was it, wasn’t it? Anti was going to kill him, right now without care. He felt tears coming back to his eyes, terrified at how this was his fate – getting his throat slit open by his evil alter ego.

“A-Anti…A-Anti, please…D-Don’t do this.” He pleaded desperately, lifting a shaky hand to try and grasp the hand holding the knife to his throat. “I-It doesn’t have….to be like this.” He said, a few loose tears running down his face now.

Anti ignored him, glaring daggers at him and pressing the knife a bit deeper. Jack shut his eyes tightly, yelping out in pain and waiting for the demon to slice him open.

But it never came.

He reopened his eyes when he felt the blade leaving his neck. He glanced up at Anti, a mixture of confusion and fear written clear across his face. The glitch was staring at him, almost in what looked like thought. He scoffed and shook his head.

**“No…No, I can’t do that. I can’t kill you just yet.”** He lowered his knife and smirked. **“I wouldn’t want to ruin the grand finale for everyone. Where’s the fun in that? No, I’m going to wait. I’m going to show them all what I can do, but not just that. I think it’ll be time you see for yourself how ‘loyal’ your fanbase truly is. I think it’ll be the perfect time for them to show their true colors to you once and for all.”**

Jack blinked out of puzzlement, letting out a shaky breath of relief. Anti released his hold on him, shoving him hard into the wall before doing so. The YouTuber gasped at the sudden pain and collapsed to the ground with a thud, getting the wind knocked right out of him. He coughed violently, moving a hand up to his mouth, tasting copper unexpectedly blossom in his tongue. He gagged and panted, weakly lifting his head to glance up at Anti. The demon stared down at him, that signature smirk pulling up into a twisted smile at seeing him like this.

“A-Anti, please, I - .”

**“Save it, Jackaboy. You and the rest of them need to finally face reality.”** He leaned down close to his face. **“It’s too late for you. It’s too late to save you. They had their chance and they fucked up.”** He grinned, hissing through his teeth. **“Nine months too late, Jackie.”** He chuckled deep in his throat before standing up straight.

Jack felt an agonizing pang in his chest at hearing what the demon said, staring up at him in horror.

Nine months….He had been here….for nine whole months? He had been chained up like a freak and tortured for nine months, ever since Halloween? If that was the case, the community – they didn’t know. They had no idea. Anti was the one inhabiting his body, pretending to be him, day after day for over half a year now. And yet, whether they knew the truth or not, deep down, Jack knew they still wanted to see Anti – they still longed to see their devious creation cause havoc.

Just by seeing the expression upon his face, Anti knew he had finally gotten to the Irishman and erased any hope he had remaining – if he had any left to begin with. Smirking, he turned to leave, crushing Sam’s corpse with his boot in the process of leaving. He didn’t seem to care how there was now blood and goo smothering the sole of his boot. What he did care about was hearing the choked up gasp of horror that emitted from Jack’s too-dried-up throat. He smirked and with a violent glitch of his body, he was outside of the cell again.

Jack panted shallowly, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes at seeing the bloodied mush on the ground that was once his friend. Bile rose in his throat and he felt a wave of nausea come over him. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. With no warning, he rolled onto his side and vomited, feeling his stomach twist into knots. He whimpered as he held his stomach in pain. Tears left his eyes, racing down his cheeks and onto the dirtied floor.

“Please…Please just…j-just make it stop…” He begged weakly before coughing violently. “Make it stop!” He cried out. “Let me go! Please! Please, Anti! I’m begging you, please!” He sobbed, curling in on himself. “P-Please…M-Make it stop…” He pleaded desperately, painful thoughts of his fanbase coming to mind and only increasing the gut-wrenching agony he was feeling.

Anti stopped where he was and turned to face the wrecked mess of a man, begging him to let him free. He smirked with delight. **“Don’t worry, Jackie. It’ll all stop soon, I promise you that much. It will all come to an end.”** He sighed with content. **“Everything is falling into place. You, the Doc, Brody, even the fans – you’re all right where I want you. And you’ll all get what you want in the end, you’ll see.”** His eyes flashed a sickening neon green as his smirk stretched from ear to ear into a terrifying toothy grin. **“A storm is coming, Jack…You know it, the other fuckers know it, and your trustworthy community most certainly knows it.”**

The Irishman didn’t respond, he didn’t even move or lift his head to look at the glitchy manifestation. He remained in his fetal position, sobbing quietly and choking on his own raspy breaths. He suddenly heard something hit the ground a few feet away from behind him. He sniffled and moved, rolling over onto his stomach to look at what had been thrown. On the ground outside of the cell was a watch, the time set at 3 o’clock pm. He stared at it unresponsive, lifting his head to look over at Anti. Even though it was incredibly dark in the room, he could easily make out that sinister grin on his pale face.

**“Keep that. You’ll need it.”** He turned and headed for the door.

Jack blinked before returning his attention to the watch. He dragged himself over to the edge of the cage, reaching a trembling hand through the bars to grab the watch and pull it towards himself.

“W-What…What for?” He questioned, his speech uneven as he licked at the tears over his lips. He eyed Anti, waiting impatiently for an answer.

Anti opened the door and glanced over his shoulder at his hostage. He smirked and went to leave, and as he did, the last words he said sent tremors of fear and heartache through the poor Irishman’s body.

**“The time of your execution. When the watch reads 4 o’clock, that is when I’ll come back for you. And when I come to retrieve you, you better be ready for what’s to come.”**


	4. Glitch in the System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from the angst for a moment, this chapter is focused on the origins of Anti and goes back to the events of October that led up to Halloween; explaining what happened. This particular chapter deals with psychological horror, as well as a detailed bloody/gory scene that can be disturbing to readers.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been nine months.

He had been here, caged in this cold dank prison for nine whole months.

Now he knew the answer to his gut-wrenching question: How long had it been?

And yet, he couldn’t fully wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t fathom the thought.

Nine months – That was an awful long time, more than half a year. He’d been gone for that long with the glitchy demon in his place and no one had noticed?

No, there was no way that could possibly be true. Surely someone would have noticed something was wrong, something was off. Mark, Bob, Wade – they would notice something off about his speech. Robin and Felix would easily be able to recognize any changes in his speech and personality, as well as his mannerisms. And Signe…of everyone, she would most definitely sense something wrong; there was no doubt about it. There was no way he had been gone for nine months, he refused to believe it.  
And yet, an uncomfortable leech of dread remained festering in the pit of his aching stomach.

If what Anti had said about the community was true – that they wanted to see him again at his strongest – then they had been blind to see that the demon had been in front of them all this time. Maybe for a time they could’ve had their suspicions. Maybe they had thought Jack was dead and Anti had in fact taken over. But given how long the YouTuber had been gone for, if the community had been suspicious of Jack’s behavior, then they would’ve done something. They would’ve banded together, and being the smart fans Jack knew they were, they would’ve come up with a solution to get their favorite Jackaboy back.  
But they did nothing…they sat back and watched…which only led the Irishman to believe that they had been played. They thought they had Jack, when really they’d been watching a demon this entire time.

There he remained laying on the stone-cold floor, still in the exact same position he’d been in ten minutes ago; in chains, laying on his stomach, facing the right side of the cage. He was staring at the watch Anti had left for him. It now read 3:10 P.M., fifty more minutes until his awaited death.

The green-haired man let out a faint, raspy breath at seeing, let alone thinking about, how much time he had left. How had this happened? How did any of this come to happen – what caused all of this? Was it true that the abomination that had locked him up in this prison was the community’s creation? And if it was, why had they created him?

Unfortunately, the emotionally-abused Irishman didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know how Anti had been created or of what had happened during the month of October that led up to where he was now. And it was better he didn’t know.

Yes, it was true, the alter ego had been created by the community. They had given him a form, a face, a name – Anti hadn’t lied about any of that. However, what the demon had failed to mention was how no one had planned for him to become a reality. He was a mistake.

Long before October had come around, many loving fans of both Markiplier and Jacksepticeye had come to know of Mark’s darker half, Darkiplier. They grew intrigued by him, and from this, a question emerged: If Jack had an evil corrupt side, what would he look like? How would he act and what would his name be? Naturally, this peaked everyone’s interest. The Jacksepticeye fandom instantly scrambled off and set off to work on this new idea – to construct a brand new alter ego for Jack. One by one, day after day, members of the community began to make this darker half of their favorite YouTuber; each and every one giving him a different unique design, each imagining him in their own distinct way. Some envisioned him as a demon – complete with pointed ears, razor-sharp teeth, claws, and sometimes a tail and/or a set of horns – while others as a shadow-like entity, a virus, or something else entirely. He was an evil version of Jack, and as such, was out to destroy the Irishman, whether that meant making his life a living hell or just straight-up killing him, it didn’t matter. And one day, this abomination that the community had created was given a name.  
His name was Antisepticeye.

Over the course of a few months, this name went viral; spreading like a virus and getting the entire fandom’s attention. It had been settled, Antisepticeye was now Jack’s evil persona. However, unknowingly to the community, the more they spread that name, the more fan art they created surrounding their new creation and the more attention they gave him, the more real he was becoming. From the abyss-like void of nothingness came a being. A pale lean figure with forest-green hair and eyes a soulless black came glitching spastically into reality, and he was not happy.

It was dark and cold where he was, hovering in the back of Jack’s mind. He was all alone with only his own thoughts to keep him company. No one knew he existed – not yet, anyway. The community had created him – they had given him life through the amount of recognition they gave him. He had been put together by each individual representation of him by the fandom; piece after piece ripped away from different takes on the ego to stitch together the perfect being. The community had inadvertently and unknowingly given life to a Frankenstein-like monster. And that monster was not pleased to discover this. He was grateful to be alive, but he wasn’t alive, not truly. He had awakened to complete darkness, getting no proper greeting from his makers. They hadn’t realized what they’d done; there was no proof of his existence. As an idea, yes, but not as an actual spiritual creature. And so, in that moment, the glitchy entity came to a conclusion: If they, his creators, couldn’t present him with a proper greeting and accept that he was real, then he would make his own grand entrance. He would make them believe.

But how? How could he get everyone’s attention? How could he make himself known?  
There had to be a way to get noticed, there had to - !

Jacksepticeye.

That name – he had heard that name repeating in his head like a mantra ever since he awoke, almost like it was constantly taunting him. What was so important about that name? Why did he suddenly feel his entire form glitch violently at just the mention of it?

And then he heard it.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome back to – !”

There it was, there was that name that caused his blood – did he have blood? – to boil furiously. Searching through the endless gloom, the manifestation looked for something, anything, that would grant him a clue as to where he was. He followed the Irish voice to the ends of the dark, finally coming upon some light. And through this light he saw everything.

The man whose mind he was residing in was seated at a desk, currently playing a video game of sorts on his PC, taking glances at a nearby camera every few seconds to speak to someone. Who was he speaking to? What was with the set up and the odd name?

Jacksepticeye…Antisepticeye…

In a matter of seconds, everything came flooding at the being full force. He had been created as the other half to Jacksepticeye, a YouTuber – a very popular YouTuber. A YouTuber with a lot of followers and a large community made up of millions of viewers.

At this discovery, the abomination grinned from ear to ear with delight. He had found his creators and more, so much more. This was far better than he could’ve ever imagined. All of those people – if he could make himself known, the amount of attention he’d receive would give him immense strength and power. And maybe, just maybe, if he managed to get enough power, he could take this “Jacksepticeye” character out of the picture and make the channel his own. If he could do that, he’d have all the attention put on him and him alone – he would be loved by millions. Is this not the reason why he was created? Had his makers not made him to get rid of the YouTuber? Perhaps they had grown tired of the Irishman; maybe they wanted something new – a replacement. If that’s what they wanted, then he would provide. He would make them proud and give them exactly what they asked for.

Now if only he could find a way to show himself…

No…No, it was too early. He couldn’t show himself just yet. He needed to familiarize himself with this “Jacksepticeye”. He just got here; he needed time to understand who this Irishman was – how he spoke, how he behaved on and off camera, all of it. He needed to know how to become his host.

From that point onward, Anti stayed in his place, off to the sidelines. For months, the unhinged manifestation studied his host, watching everything the green-haired man did and learning everything about him, inside and out. He mimicked his speech patterns day after day, getting used to the way Jack spoke, and did just the same with any of his noticeable mannerisms as well. He established a general understanding of Jack’s personality, his likes and dislikes, and how he was as Jack versus how he was as Sean. He even went as far as managing to crawl his way into the part of Jack’s brain where all of his memories were stored; going through each and every one and memorizing them all right down to the faintest detail. He hadn’t shown himself yet, but if his plan worked, he would have to put on an act and the only way that would fly is if he were to become Jack – both in body and mind. He would do anything and everything to make his performance believable when the time came.

And then it was October, the month of spooks and scares. When better a time to reveal himself than now?

Oh, but he couldn’t straight up possess his host. No, he’d wait. He’d tease them all, make brief appearances to stir up the pot. That would get their attention. But first things first: trying to actually project himself so others would know he was there.

October 8th is when it happened.

Jack was just starting to record himself a new game called “Five Nights at Freddy’s Sister Location”. The glitch wasn’t all too familiar with the game yet, but he knew it was from a popular horror game franchise. And if it was popular, the likelihood of the video getting seen was at an all-time high. Now was his chance to show himself to everyone and reveal to his creators that he was actually alive.

As his host carried on playing the game, every few seconds speaking into the camera about it, Anti gave an attempt at breaking through the barrier that kept him at bay from possessing Jack. Nothing much happened. He didn’t manage to project his form, but he did manage to make the screen glitch out for half a second. That was better than nothing. Now if he could just show his face…

Focusing on channeling his energy out of Jack and into the recording camera, Anti glared at the lens, not wanting to break concentration. Shifting his attention to the computer screen, he almost thought it hadn’t worked, until he saw it glitch out again, and very briefly show another Jack pop up, glaring sinisterly at the audience. Upon seeing this, the entity grinned wickedly, and to his surprise, that very expression of insidious glee got caught on tape, even though he had barely concentrated at all this time.

It was working, it was actually working! He was finally able to show his face to everyone without trouble. With this in mind, and knowing there was still plenty of recording time left, the demon chuckled deep in his throat and figured he would have some fun while he had the chance.

During the remainder of the recording, Anti continued to mess with the camera; making the screen break out into static and glitches, letting brief glimpses of his face leak through here and there. The first couple were unsettlingly happy, while the last few were actually violent in nature and clearly showed how angered and unstable he was at the core; gripping and tugging on his hair, screaming out of rage, and head twitching spastically. His audience deserved to see just how twisted and erratic their creation had become. They made him this way, now he had to wait and see what they thought of him – that is if they noticed him. And notice him they did.

Two days later and the video was uploaded, and within an hour after the upload, comment after comment came flooding in about the glitch.

_“OMG! It’s Anti!”_   
_“What’s up with Jack’s facecam? It keeps glitching out.”_   
_“Is that Jack’s evil alter ego, Antisepticeye? Oh my God!”_   
_“Does anyone else notice the creepy faces showing up in Jack’s facecam? Pretty spooky.”_

Everyone was finally beginning to take notice in him – one after another, these people had come to realize he existed. A jack o’ lantern-like grin stretched impossibly wide across the demon’s face. It was time to toy with his makers.

* * * * *

Over the course of the month, the troublesome demon continued to make unannounced appearances in Jack’s videos left, right, and center. Just like with his grand “introduction” as he put it, the glitches varied from frighteningly gleeful to sudden manic behavior. And as he expected, with each show of his face, more attention was put on him. With each day, the demonic entity could feel himself growing more powerful. He could physically feel jolts of tantalizing energy coursing through his veins, rejuvenating him and making him feel stronger than he ever had before. He felt like he could take on his host. He felt like he could take on the world.

Poor Jack, he hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on. He barely even took notice of the glitches, he automatically assumed there was either something wrong with the camera or Robin had gone and added some pretty cool effects for Spooktober. He had no idea that what was living deep inside of him wanted out and was planning to take control.

Nonetheless, as the days flew by and Halloween was nearing, the Irishman began to experience out of the ordinary phenomenon that he wouldn’t admit was unnerving him to the bone.

Within the first two weeks, the chronic headaches started. At first, they were barely noticeable – just a small faint pang of pain, nothing Tylenol or Advil couldn’t fix. But the closer it got to the 31st, the harsher the pain grew to the point of being so agonizing, it felt like someone was actually physically trying to pry his skull open from the inside out. Jack rarely ever got headaches, let alone ones this painful. Maybe it was from stress? Had he been working himself too hard lately? Maybe a long overdue break was called for. But things only got worse for the green-haired man.

He was starting to hear things, especially at late hours of the night. There were always thumps and shuffling, like someone was moving around the apartment, all accompanied with faint, bone-chilling giggles of glee. After staying up late for nights on end, he’d swear up and down that he’d seen something move out of the corner of his eye; a shadow passing by at breakneck speed or an object on his desk shaking a bit with no explanation as to why. He felt like he was losing his mind, but he wouldn’t dare tell anyone about any of this, especially not to Signe. He most certainly didn’t want her worrying about him, and more importantly, he didn’t want to scare her off. She didn’t need to know about any of this – none of them did. Nothing was wrong with him, everything was fine…right?

How very wrong he was. He was in complete denial.

After the 10th, Jack found himself having very odd, very unnerving dreams night after night. Just like with the headaches, they started off fine. It was normal to have weird and bizarre dreams, everyone had those. The Irishman thought nothing much of them…that was until the following week. The following week was when the indescribable dreams underwent a horrific transformation into nightmares. Jack had had his rare bad dream every couple of months, but these were so different. These were so much worse.

For fourteen nights straight, endless night terrors haunted and tormented the Irishman repeatedly, tearing apart at his sanity bit by bit and plaguing his mind with the worst visuals imaginable. And they were quite often the same. Maybe the images were shuffled around, but they always seemed to have the exact same feel to them: like he was being watched. The dreams were getting increasingly more vivid as the nights passed, until one night, the nightmare became so vivid, so lifelike, he couldn’t tell where the dream ended and where reality started.

It opened up to complete and utter darkness, swallowing the green-haired man whole and sucking out any and all bravery he had. He was all alone in the dark for what felt like a decade, and yet he knew – dread and gut-wrenching anxiety swelling in his chest – that he wasn’t alone. Someone or something somewhere in the eternal darkness was watching his every move, and for all he knew, that thing was right behind him or at his side. He heard a mirthful giggle reverberate throughout the room, if that’s what it was. Chills raced up his spine, all of the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. There was something breathing down his neck, and it wasn’t a hot puff of air either – it was freezing cold, like an icy breeze during the winter season. Almost instantly, he whirled on his heel to see nothing but black in his wake. He suddenly made out the overwhelming scent of copper and the giggle he heard before returned with a vengeance, louder and more of a sadistic laugh that would belong to a deranged psychopath. His breathing began to quicken, as did his heartbeat as his wide eyes desperately tried to find whatever it was in the dark. Something was very wrong here.

This demented laughter echoed and became distorted after a few seconds, the smell of blood growing stronger to the point of crashing a wave of nausea over him. The darkened space before his eyes started to ripple and glitch out, giving him brief glimpses of a paled figure coming towards him with what looked like a knife in its hand. Frightened, Jack tried to step back, but to his horror realized he was unable to move. He was paralyzed where he was standing, not taking his eyes away from the glitching being. Blood spotted the edges of his vision as the distorted figure neared closer, one moment yanking violently on its hair, the next laughing manically and having its head spastically twitch from side to side. And the closer it got, the more Jack recognized the figure as himself – an incredibly unstable, frightening version of himself.

His breathing hitched when this demented Jack suddenly gave a glitch of his body so fierce it made his neck snap forward, a loud cringe-worthy crack emitting from it and making Jack reel back in disgust. And with a blink of his aquatic blue eyes, this sinister version of himself was standing in front of him, a Cheshire smile plastered onto his pale face. The mirthful being shook all over, distorted versions of himself glitching into view for a few fleeting moments, the most disturbing of them all being one of him clawing at his bleeding eyes while leaning towards Jack, screaming out of both pain and rage. The poor Irishman didn’t know what to do – he couldn’t move, he could barely even breathe properly. He was shaken to the core and didn’t know what to expect. He felt his lips struggle to part to question the duplicate standing in front of him, but nothing came out. He was too scared; it seemed any words he longed to get out had gotten crammed in his throat, unable to escape. 

He flinched when the being went to move, slowly raising the knife up to his own throat, the grin never faltering. As the twitchy version of him did this, an extremely loud ear-piercing ringing erupted in both of Jack’s ears, immediately causing him to wince and cup his ears, trying desperately to block out the sound. He could make out distorted, disembodied whispers bouncing off of the walls, some much harsher and threatening than others. Many of them were overlapping, so it was quite difficult for him to make out each one, but he managed to catch a few.

**“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”**  
**“Release me…”**  
**“N-Need…Need m-more…”**  
**“To d-dissect…”**  
**“P-Power-er…”**  
**“NEeD iT!”**  
**“M-My host…A-All mi-ine.”**  
**“I-In the way….I-In the way…”**  
**“W-Will su-uffer in h-here…”**  
**“1, 2, 3 – 1,2, 3, 3, 3, 3….3, 2, 1, 1…”**  
**“EnD It aLL!”**  
**“Th-They’ll c-call my na-ame…”**  
**“S-Sa-ay G-Goodb-bye…”**

Jack’s face scrunched up in both fear as well as confusion. None of it made any sense, not even when he tried to piece it together. Why was he dreaming this? Was this even a dream to begin with? This felt far too real to be a dream. The manifestation in front of him looked so lifelike; he felt that if he were to reach out to touch it he’d actually feel cool flesh against his fingertips. 

Those words continued to repeat themselves in the endless darkness as Jack watched his mirror image raise the knife to his windpipe. His eyes widened in horror as he watched the blade press deep into the sickeningly pale skin before gliding along, slowly cutting the creature’s throat open; a thick spray of warm crimson spewing out and onto his face as the cut grew. But as horrifying as this was, this isn’t what scarred Jack – this isn’t what made his bones quake with terror. What did was as the blade cut into the manifestation, the green-haired man could suddenly feel an earth-shattering strike of pain blossom in his own neck. And as the glistening sharpened knife sliced into his other self’s throat, tearing open the flesh, Jack felt the pain in his neck muscles stretch and pull apart, followed by a warm wet substance oozing and dripping down his body. 

He opened his mouth, a silent choked scream bursting free as he instantly raised a hand to his throat to feel around for a cut, but there was nothing there. There was no evidence of there being a slit in his throat, and yet, the more the creature cut away at its neck, the more agony he felt. His vision was beginning to go red, the rush of blood thumping and pumping loudly in his ears. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit or pass out at any moment, which ever came first. All he smelled was copper now, that’s all he could smell. He swore the words echoing around him were getting louder to the point of deafening. He tried to close his eyes, or at least look away from the horrific display, but he couldn’t tear his gaze off of the demonic entity. It was like he was hypnotized, almost intrigued in a way at what was happening. 

Without fully realizing it, Jack had collapsed to his knees – when had that happened? – and his head felt heavy, his vision swimming. He inhaled and exhaled sharply and shakily, struggling to get any air in his lungs. The air here was tainted by the strong scent of blood, and it only made the urge to hurl a whole lot stronger. He dry heaved and glanced up at the twitching being. Slowly blinking and now having trouble making out the figure clearly, he watched as the twisted version of him finally stopped slicing into its neck. It dropped the knife and with both hands, Jack witnessed the most horrifying thing he had ever seen. The demon gripped its hair and slowly began to pull its own head backward, the flesh, muscle, and veins all tearing and separating, giving way until the head had been entirely removed. A vast amount of blood gushed out and splattered all over the Irishman’s face and body as a bloodcurdling scream finally managed to burst forth from his lungs.

In an instant, the YouTuber bolted up in bed, gasping for breath; clutching his chest with one hand, the other caressing his throat gently. His entire body was trembling all over and he breathed in shaky breaths, glancing around the dark room wildly; sweat running down his forehead as he took in his surroundings. He was at home, in his room in bed. He looked to his right, his heart still pounding violently against the palm of his clammy hand. Through the darkness of the room, he managed to make out a figure – a woman – under the covers, fast asleep; her brown flowing curls pushed away from her face. Signe. Jack let out a trembling breath of relief at seeing her there before glancing around the room. It had been a nightmare, that whole thing had just been one really vivid, intense, horrifying nightmare. None of it had happened. He was at home, safe and sound.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a long sigh in attempts to calm his poor heart down. He needed to relax. This had been the fourteenth night now that he’d woken up from a nightmare, except this time had to be the worst one. None of the others had been nearly as terrifying, not even remotely close to being this vivid either.

“F-Fuck me.” He whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

There was no way of going to sleep again, not after that hell. Being as quiet as he could, not wanting to wake Signe, Jack pushed back the covers and snuck out of the room, going down to the kitchen. He flicked the light on, opened the cupboard, grabbed a glass, and ran the tab, getting himself a glass of ice-cold water before seating himself at the table. After taking a long gulp of the liquid he finally took a glance at the time. It was 3:10 A.M., still dark and quiet as ever outside. He lightly scoffed and shook his head once more before taking another sip. He couldn’t believe how late it was, let alone how he had been having nightmares for nights on end now. What the hell was that all about?

“Sean?”

The Irishman’s heart nearly jumped out of his ribcage at hearing Signe quietly say his name. His eyes shot to the opening to the kitchen, seeing her standing there in her pajamas, rubbing at one of her eyes sleepily. He looked at her a bit sheepishly, taking glances at the glass of water resting in his hands.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He said softly.

She yawned. “What’s wrong?” She turned her head, taking a look at the time. She blinked with surprise, even though it was apparent she was having trouble staying awake. “Why are you up so late? It’s three in the morning.”

“I know, I know. I’m…I’m sorry.” He apologized. He really didn’t want her worrying about him, especially not this late. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine, honest. Please, go back to bed.” He tried to reassure her, eyeing her and hoping she would listen.

Signe didn’t look convinced. “Like hell I’m leaving you alone.” She shuffled forward, nearing the table. “What’s wrong? This is the fourth time this week you’ve woken up in the middle of the night, Sean.”

Jack shook his head, shrugging his shoulders and attempting to brush it off as nothing. “It’s nothing, honestly. Just a bad dream, that’s all, I swear.” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long sip. Unfortunately, his hand was shaking, and though she was tired, Signe easily noticed.

Her eyes shifted from her boyfriend to his trembling hand and then back again. “Sean…” She moved to the table, pulling out a chair beside him and taking a seat. She didn’t take her eyes off of him. “Tell me the truth…What’s wrong?”

He looked at her over the edge of the glass, slowly pulling it away and setting it down on the table. He sighed deeply, moving his hand to rub at his eyes. They were so sore from the lack of sleep he’d been getting the last few nights.

“I don’t know, Signe. I haven’t been sleeping very well the last fourteen nights in a row and I keep getting headaches.”

“Maybe you should go and see the doctor.” Signe suggested, noticing the dark circles under Jack’s eyes.

Her boyfriend shook his head. “No…No, I’ll be fine.”

She shook her own head in return. “No, you won’t be. Sean, you just said you haven’t been getting sleep for the last fourteen nights. That isn’t healthy, something is wrong.” She moved a hand to gently rub his back in circles. “I really think you should go and see a doctor about this.”

Still, Jack refused and remained in denial. “No…No, I’m fine.”

“Sean - .”

“Signe, I think all of this is just because of the amount of work I’ve been doing lately.” He finally looked at her. He spoke like he truly believed his own words – he was actually surprised how convincing he sounded. “I’ve been getting up early, gaming for an hour or two, editing stuff and sending the recordings to Robin. I’ve been staying up until two every night, trying to get as much done as possible, as well as continuing to interact with the community on Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram.”

“Well there’s your problem then.” Signe said. “You’ve been working yourself far too hard. This – all of this – is the stress catching up to you.” She looked at him softly. “I think you should take a break, a long one. Take the whole week off.” Jack went to object, but she didn’t let him. “Don’t try to argue with me. You’re working yourself too hard and you need a break. Let the community know. I’m sure they’ll understand.” She rubbed his back in slow gentle circles, causing him to close his tired eyes and relax into her touch.

Reluctantly, he gave a nod and realized she was right. Maybe this was all because of work. Maybe he did deserve a good long break from it all. He sighed.

“Alright, maybe you’re right. Maybe a long overdue break is needed.” He reopened his eyes and took a small sip of water before eyeing her. “I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow, I’m going to record my Halloween video, and after I’ve done that – after it’s been recorded, edited, and uploaded – I’ll give myself a break. And as a bonus, I’ll give the doctor a call and see about getting myself an appointment, alright? How’s that sound?”

She searched his eyes, trying to decipher if he was telling the truth and would actually do as he just said. “You promise? You’ll give yourself a break and go see the doctor?”

He nodded, a faint tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I promise.”

She gave a smile in return. “Good. ‘Cause,” Her smile faded, replacing it with a worried look, “you’ve been scaring me lately, what with how you’ve been acting. You’ve seemed a bit jumpy lately.”

Jack felt his heart skip a beat and his smile vanished instantly. He shook his head. “No, no, no, I don’t want to be scaring you. Please, believe me, Signe, I’m fine. It’s just all the stress from work that’s been affecting me, I swear.” He gave her a reassuring smile, pushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She still looked a tad bit uncertain, but gave a nod anyway, accompanied with a sheepish smile. “I know you wouldn’t.” She gave him a kiss before pushing her chair back and getting up, shuffling towards the exit of the kitchen.

Jack watched her before shifting his attention to his glass of water, his facial expression falling to one of dismay. Fragments of his nightmare returned to him, flashing before his eyes. The grip on his glass tightened. He heard Signe stop walking.

“Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

He shifted his attention back to her, and instantly he noticed the worry written all across her face. He gave her another reassuring smile, though he had a feeling she didn’t buy it.

“Go off to bed, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Signe stared at him for a moment longer before nodding and turning to leave, walking out of the kitchen and heading off to bed. Jack’s eyes went back to the glass of water, staring off into space as his nightmare played on repeat in his head. Letting out a shaky breath, he downed his drink, stood up, and went to place the glass on the counter before turning off the light and leaving the kitchen himself.

Before he had left though, the glitching demon lingering in the back of his mind managed to spot the calendar hanging in the kitchen. He knew what day it was, and he knew exactly what his host was planning to do that day for Halloween. He grinned sadistically, a sinister cackle of laughter ripping from him.

Tomorrow was the day.

It was time for everyone to say goodbye to their precious Jacksepticeye.


	5. Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is centered entirely on the events of “Say Goodbye”. As such, there is an uneasy sense of dread that gets dragged out throughout the story. Knives come into play and nearing the climax, there is a detailed bloody scene that could be disturbing to some readers.

3:17 P.M. – exactly forty-three more minutes until his execution.

The weakened Irishman stared at the watch as he delved deep into thought. Slowly but surely everything that had happened back in October was coming back to him in fragments. He could remember the excruciating headaches, and how at times, he thought he had been losing his mind, convinced he was hearing and seeing things. The nightmares – he could never forget those. Those had permanently scarred his brain; those weren’t getting forgotten anytime soon unfortunately. 

But what had happened close to Halloween? What caused him to be where he was now – in a pitch-black, glacial prison cell with his brutalized wrists and ankles linked to the wall? How had that unstable, insidious manifestation managed to gain control over him and his body?

Jack groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground and sat up straight, running a blood-caked hand through his greasy mop of green hair. He moved to lean and sit back against the brick wall, letting out a dry sigh of exhaustion. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard to conjure up the memories of what had happened on October 29th, the day he was supposed to have recorded his Halloween video. Why couldn’t he think clearly in here? Why was it so hard for him to remember? Maybe it was something about this room. He was already getting weaker by the second; maybe it affected him mentally as well. Perhaps the air was capable of fogging up his brain and giving him temporary amnesia. He had been here for a long time – nine months, to be exact. What would happen if he remained here a whole lot longer? What would happen then? Would he lose his memory all together? He felt his unsteady heart skip a few beats at the notion of the thought. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, attempting to desperately call out to his memories.

_Come on, Sean. Focus!_ He scolded himself, _Stop thinking about what’s happening now and remember back to Halloween. Come on, what happened? Why are you here? Remember, damn it! Remember!_

* * * * *

October 29th – two days before Halloween. Time to put together his Halloween video.

Yes, he knew it wasn’t the 31st just yet, but given his daily routine of recording two days in advance, it had to be done. And after today, he wouldn’t record anything for a week. He had made a promise to Signe he would take a week-long break after this one video, and he planned to keep that promise. No more gameplay, recording, or videos for a week. The community would understand, she had told him. And knowing just how caring and supportive the fandom was, he knew this to be true. There wasn’t anything to worry about…Except there was. 

Ever since he woke up that morning, he couldn’t take his mind off of the nightmare he had had last night. It had been so horrifying, so vivid – he could’ve sworn all of it had actually happened. Everything he had seen, heard, smelled, FELT, had all been far too real to fully wrap his head around. It was nauseating just thinking about it. It took a lot of convincing himself to believe it had only been a dream. When he had gotten up, he had stumbled into the washroom and instantly, the first thing he did was look at his reflection to see if there was a wide-open gash along his throat. To his relief, there was nothing there, and he managed to laugh it off sourly. 

These dreams of his were really taking a toll on him. As each day passed, as each nightmare grew worse, he swore he was losing more and more of his sanity. Endless nightmares for two weeks straight – that wasn’t normal, surely it wasn’t. He had told Signe that all of this – the nightmares, the insomnia, the headaches – was all a result of stress from working too hard, and she had bought it. Hell, he himself had almost managed to fall for his own lies. Yet, as much as he truly wanted to believe what he had said, as much as he really wanted to agree with his girlfriend and say stress was the problem in all of this, there was an uncomfortable tangled knot of denial and dread swelling up in his chest. Somehow he knew, deep down, stress from work was not the issue here, there was something much worse at play. What that was exactly, he hadn’t the slightest clue. He didn’t even know where to begin. Other than what Signe had said about work being the cause, he couldn’t remotely conjure up a theory on what had caused all of this. He just knew his work wasn’t the reason for his nightmares, especially given what said nightmares were about.

The horrors that plagued his mind repeatedly were ones of bloodshed and always involved a demented, distorted version of himself that managed to send chills up and running underneath his skin. Every time he’d hear that distinctive haunting giggle of sadistic delight, he’d physically feel his bones rattle with trepidation, immediately enduring a horrible overwhelming sense of death in the room with him. He didn’t understand why he had these dreams, let alone why they were always very similar in nature. It could not be normal to have the same nightmare playing over and over again for two weeks straight, getting increasingly more visceral. This could not be a symptom of having stress – this was far too out of the ordinary and disturbing to be one. And the noises he’d hear every now and again, as well as the shadows he’d see moving out of the corner of his eye...none of that was from stress, he knew this for a fact. But then if that was the case – if none of these things he had been experiencing for this whole month had anything to do with stress from work – it left the most unnerving unanswered question hanging over his head like a pendulum blade that would decapitate him at any given moment.

What WAS responsible for this entire abnormal phenomenon?

He sighed deeply, rubbing at his sore sleep-deprived eyes as he stood there in his recording room, making an attempt at waking himself up fully. Poor Jack, he was still so tired, even though he had already finished downing his fourth cup of coffee that day. Signe had tried to get him to take it easy on the caffeine and get some rest, but he had no time for sleep; he needed to do this video. He couldn’t post nothing for Halloween – what kind of YouTuber would he be to do that to his community? He needed to get this filmed, and yet he was so drained. His eyes were sore from the lack of sleep and every few minutes, he’d suddenly find his vision swimming for a brief moment; his body swaying slightly where he’d be standing. He couldn’t blame Signe for being concerned, but he reassured her more than once that he was alright. About an hour ago, he had told her he was going to go and record his video, and if he needed any help or if he suddenly didn’t feel well, then he would put off the recording and immediately call for her. Her face had had worry written all across it, but she didn’t argue with him; she simply nodded in agreement before carrying on with what she had been doing. 

And now here he was, in his recording room, trying desperately to stay wide awake and get things ready for the video.

Just like what he had done the previous year, the YouTuber had settled on the idea of doing yet again another pumpkin-carving video for Halloween. He had a lot of fun doing it last year, so why not do it again? He had already set up his table, complete with a few lit tea lights sitting atop of it and a string of orange lights along the front edge. As usual, his whiteboard was hanging on the back of the door, now reading “HAPPY HALLOWEEN” in big capital letters. The pumpkin he was going to carve was sitting in the direct center of the table, accompanied with the tools he’d use to cut and gut it with. He set up the camera a few feet away from the table before taking a step back to make sure everything looked the way he wanted it to. He smiled, pleased with it all. Perhaps he should show everyone, give them all a teaser for what they’d receive on Halloween. Smiling brightly at the idea, Jack took out his phone and decided he’d film everything before putting it on Instagram for all of his fans to see. He focused the camera on the table, showing off the contents sitting upon it.

“Yay! Halloween!” He said with glee clear as day in his voice. It kind of surprised him, given just how tired he felt. “Carving pumpkins is - !” And suddenly, he stopped.

He immediately turned and locked his eyes on the door, staring at it, alarmed. In that moment, he could’ve sworn he had heard something move from right outside the door, followed by a very faint giggle – that exact same giggle from his dream – that no one would probably notice except for him. After a beat and giving his heart a moment to relax, he finally worked out a response, not wanting to leave his fans wondering what was wrong.

“I swear to God, I keep hearing something.” And as soon as he was finished saying that, he ended the recording before taking another look back at the door.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and feeling a bit on edge now, he neared the door, reaching out for the knob. Taking a breather to steady his nerves, he yanked open the door and popped his head out, taking a hesitant look down the hall. There was nothing there.

“Sig?” He called out, wondering if maybe it had been her he had heard moving around. “Sig, was that you?”

There was a long pause before finally, he saw her peer out from around the corner, looking quite puzzled.

“What was me?”

Jack blinked, taking a brief moment to collect his thoughts. _Don’t tell her,_ He insisted, _She’s already worried as is. No need to scare her further, even if Halloween is right around the corner._ He shook his head, chuckled lightly, and smiled.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. Just making sure you’re still around, that’s all.”

He noticed her raise a brow out of further confusion, but she didn’t bother to question him. She shrugged her shoulders and turned to leave, shaking her head. As soon as she did, the Irishman returned to his room, closing the door behind him. A shaky breath left him as he took his hand off the knob, his eyes still not leaving the door. He was convinced he had heard something running by his room a moment ago. And that giggle…There was no mistaking that giggle. That had been the exact same eerie childish giggle from his nightmare last night. 

He shut his eyes and shook his head. _Get a hold of yourself, man! Stop this. Don’t go torturing yourself._ He told himself. _You cannot be thinking about last night right now. You have more important things to be concerned about at the moment. You can deal with all of this later, but for now, you need to get your head in the game._

He nodded in agreement with his own subconscious and reopened his eyes, shifting his attention from the door to the table that had been set up. Letting out a sigh, forcing a smile to come to his face, and shoving his worries aside for now, Jack finally set to work.

* * * * *

“Top of the mornin’ to you laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome back to carving pumpkins!” The green-haired man exclaimed with much gusto to his audience, a bright lively smile on his face. “We did one of these last year, and I think it's a cool tradition to just do a carving pumpkin video every year. So welcome back! Happy birthday! Happy Halloween birthday to the pumpkins!" He quickly corrected himself, smile never leaving his face. Typical Jack – all goofs, smiles, and glowing with positivity.

He carried on, addressing the viewers and telling them what he was planning to do. He showed them the tools he’d be using to carve the pumpkin, advising them all of what they’d need to do this. But unknowingly to him, all the while, the demon lurking in the back of his mind was plotting. The creature came crawling out of the darkness and watched through the light, noticing how his host was currently on camera, doing a recording for the community. He grinned from ear to ear, knowing today was the day he’d finally take control once and for all. It was time to cut Jacksepticeye out of the picture and make way for someone far more superior.

There was only one problem: the barrier.

There was a barrier up in front of him, keeping him at bay from being able to possess his host. No matter what he did, he couldn’t bring that indestructible field down, not even slightly, and if he couldn’t get it to move, there was no possible way for him to gain control. He had noticed how over the last two weeks it had slowly but surely managed to move – a slight crack becoming visible – but it wasn’t nearly large enough for him to slip through. How had he made it move? During those two weeks he had tormented Jack with endless nightmares, keeping him up at late hours of the night. He had gotten him so worked up and paranoid.

That was it. Fear was the answer to all of this. If he could frighten the man – if he could get him scared enough, so on edge his heart would race and he’d have trouble concentrating – maybe the barrier would come down just enough for him to get to the other side. It was worth a shot.

Eyeing the camera from within the Irishman’s mind, Anti concentrated hard and within seconds, he found himself now standing in Jack’s room, now outside of his body. Naturally, Jack couldn’t see him – he wasn’t able to; he just continued on with his recording, talking to the camera. The demon didn’t have a physical form, and as such, was unable to be seen by anyone unless he was possessing someone. Without a body, he was just a glitching apparition; invisible to the naked eye…that was unless he managed to corrupt the camera and show himself through that.

He stood there and turned around to see Jack, watching his host address the viewers about how he was “so unprepared” and needed to get something to wipe the marker off of the pumpkin he was going to carve. As the demon watched him get up to go and grab a damp paper towel, Anti eyed the spoon on the table and figured he’d start off small – not just get Jack’s attention but everyone else’s as well. Let them all know something was up. Taking a glance over to where Jack had left for a brief moment, a flicker of erratic energy sprang from Anti’s body and struck the spoon, making it rattle ever so slightly. It just so happened at that exact moment Jack had chosen to return to the room, and when he noticed the spoon rattling, he didn’t think much of it, if anything he thought the noise was annoying and took the spoon off the table. The glitch frowned, not pleased with the reaction he got. He needed to try harder – do something that would instantly trigger the Irishman emotionally and actually get fear flowing into the pathetic carcass he called a body. 

Jack carried on with what he was doing; drawing on the face he was planning to carve into the pumpkin. Proud with the end result and after revealing it to the audience, it was time to cut open the head of the squash and get inside. There were two knives – one larger than the other – and as soon as Anti noticed, the demon couldn’t contain the giggle that wanted out; watching his host lift the large kitchen knife to start cutting into the pumpkin. Unknowingly to Jack, at that moment the screen had rippled briefly. And instantly, the green-haired man tensed up and his ears perked up, eyes immediately looking up and off into the distance, staring off into space like a deer to the headlights. His fist-sized organ of innocence skipped a painful beat. There it was again – that unsettling giggle that always made him feel like he was being watched, like he was being toyed with. 

“The fuck was that?” He questioned, continuing to look at the opposite side of the room for another brief moment, confusion clear across his face. He set the knife down, and stood up, going out to see what the source of the ominous giggle was. “Hello?”

With him out of the room, Anti took his chance to get the audience’s attention – to actually let them know that Jack wasn’t as alone as he thought. Messing with the camera, static raced across the screen in seconds flat, everything in the room getting bleached a pale green on camera. And for half a second, Anti made himself known; leaning down and smiling devilishly, wearing the exact same attire as Jack. Blink and anyone would miss it, although it was hard to miss the long bloody slit stretched out across his throat. 

After getting no response to his “hello”, the green-haired Irishman returned, taking his seat and looking puzzled and admittedly quite a bit spooked.

“That was weird.” He said oddly, his eyes drifting over to the large kitchen knife he had had in his hand a moment ago. He lifted his hand to grab it, although given the way he was looking at it, he almost seemed hesitant to do so….Almost like he was afraid of it. Finally, he picked it up, muttering under his breath, “…the fuck was that?” 

His eyes went to the pumpkin, about to return to what he had been doing before he had been interrupted, except he couldn’t bring himself to start cutting just yet. Something seemed really wrong. Something was off; he could feel it in his gut. There was that daunting sense of death lurking around him again. He recognized it from the way his blood had gone ice-cold and how he found it suddenly difficult to concentrate, let alone move. His attention drifted from the pumpkin back to the knife in his hand, staring at it with what his viewers would probably deduce as fascination. This blade…he’d seen it before, in a dream more than once. His eyes scanned the glistening knife, looking it over slowly as pieces of his nightmare from the other night flashed before his eyes, seeing the glitching version of himself holding the exact same knife…  
…And how it had raised it to its throat…  
…and cut through its veins one by one, having warm crimson blood spew out onto Jack’s face…  
…how Jack had felt that burning pain of his own throat tearing open…

He felt chills run all throughout his body. The kitchen knife suddenly felt freezing cold in his hand now for some reason. And strangely, as he held the knife and gently touched the sharp blade, he somehow felt drawn to it, like there was something more to all of this. It wasn’t just a knife; it wasn’t just the fact how he had seen that distorted abomination slicing his flesh open with the exact same knife that bothered him. There was something else…Something…dark…  
Something compelling.

His heart stuttered when he began to hear the words that that sinister duplicate of himself had whispered and repeated in his nightmare, slithering around and echoing in the back of his head like the ghostly earworms they were. 

**“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”**  
**“M-My host…A-All mi-ine.”**  
**“I-In the way….I-In the way…”**  
 **“EnD It aLL!”**  
 **“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”**  
**“I-In the way….I-In the way…”**

It all sounded like a recitation of sorts, a chant made to push him over the edge of insanity. His aqua-blue eyes that had once held so much light but were now dulling down with fear were transfixed on the shining knife as he heard the voices taunt him. His heartbeat slowed down to an unsteady pace, nothing but the sound of his blood pumping loudly in his ears. He didn’t know why, but the more the voices spoke – the more the words jabbed at him with insistence that he was “in the way” – he realized his mind was beginning to swim in a pool of compulsion. The longer he held the kitchen utensil, the more he found himself contemplating about raising it to his throat. He was tempted; curious to know what the cool steel would feel like slicing through the layers of muscle. Curious to know what would happen if he just stopped everything.   
It would be so easy…He could press it against his windpipe, and…

_Stop! Don’t even think about it! What the fuck are you doing thinking about something like that?!_ His subconscious snapped. _You’re still on camera right now._ He reminded himself. _You don’t have time for this._

Brushing off the feeling and acting like nothing had happened, Jack lifted the knife up to the top of the pumpkin and returned to the task at hand; naming the pumpkin Gerald before cutting open its head. Though he was putting on an act, Anti had seen everything. He knew the man had heard his giggle, and when that had happened, he instantly could smell the fear radiating off of his host. He had heard his heart skip a few beats and he had seen the way he had looked at the knife, clearly having gotten triggered by seeing it. The demon knew far too well of what he had been thinking of: the last nightmare he had given him. And knowing exactly how that dream had affected him since then, Anti was confident his plan would work. Jack would succumb to fear, and once it became too much, that’s when he’d strike.

For minutes at a time, the glitching entity had his fun causing the screen to glitch out at times – ranging from brief ripples to lines of grainy static. At one moment in particular, he wanted to take things a step further and really fuck up the Irishman. He slithered his way back into his host for a few quick moments, just long enough to send a bolt of searing pain through to the man’s brain. Right as Jack was opening up Gerald’s head, a wave of nausea hit him with brutal force. The smell wasn’t sitting well with him, which was odd, given how he had been fine when he did this last year. Suddenly, the scent of copper flooded his senses and he felt something warm oozing from his nose. 

“What the - ?” He lifted a hand to his nose and pulled it back, only to have his eyes widen in horror at seeing blood now smeared across his finger. “Oh my God! What the fuck?...Jesus Christ!” Covering his nose and trying to stop the bleeding, the Irishman immediately sprung up from his seat and headed out the door.

Once more, with Jack out of the room, Anti had the opportunity to tease everyone. The screen glitched out spastically, revealing the entity now sitting in Jack’s spot, eyeing the camera with a most sinister expression of delight. As quickly as he had shown himself, the YouTuber had come back into the room, taking his seat and exclaiming how he never got nosebleeds. However, though he was laughing it off as nothing but an odd coincidence, underneath the façade, the green-haired man was actually beginning to truly get worried about what was going on. It was true, he never did get nosebleeds; he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever had one. And for one to suddenly happen out of the blue, around Halloween no less…

For a fleeting moment, he had considered putting an end to the video and calling for Signe, but the Jacksepticeye part of him refused to do so. He didn’t want to disappoint the community, he wanted to give them a Halloween video, and so help him, he would make this video no matter what happened – he would not stop recording. Whatever he heard, saw, thought about, or felt that would unease him in the most horrible ways, he would NOT. Stop. Recording.

As the video progressed, things were becoming more out of the ordinary. More glitches of the screen were occurring with the YouTuber completely oblivious to them, and shadows of figures were appearing in the corners of the room. At one point, Jack’s right eye started acting up – twitching for some unexplainable reason while he was gutting Gerald. Some of the things the Irishman was starting to say were actually quite dark and unnatural to hear coming out of his mouth if really scrutinized and thought about, like how right at the moment, he was slicing the knife into Gerald, attempting to cut out his face.

“Stop resisting, Gerald!” He grunted through his clenched teeth. “It’s time…to **DiE!”** Jack’s face suddenly glitched out violently as a harsh growl rippled from his vocal cords.

The way he had said those words, especially when he said “die” – that didn’t sound like the Jack everyone knew. It sounded violent and menacing, like if Gerald was an actual person, he’d be slicing him open right now, killing him with no mercy. It would be rather disconcerting for anyone who would end up watching this. And yet, almost immediately, he slipped right back into his giggly, overly-happy self. He was just finishing up gouging out Gerald’s second eye when he suddenly made out stomping coming from nearby. The Irishman sat up straight, nervously shifting in his seat as he glanced around the room, mainly upward as he tried to deduce where the sound was coming from, let alone what could possibly be causing it. Once more, his anxiety levels were starting to skyrocket and his heart was beginning to quicken out of fear.

“I swear to God, I’m hearing something.” He stated, looking bewildered as ever. There was no way of faking the paranoia on his face or in his nervous mannerisms. “This is fuckin’ freaking me out.” He admitted. 

For the third time, he got up from the table, went to the door, and stepped out to figure out what was going on. He walked up and down the hall, searching everywhere for the source of the thumping, but to no avail. Signe at one point stepped out to ask what was going on. He told her the truth – that he could’ve sworn he heard a loud noise coming from out there in the hall – but if there had been a noise, she seemed to have not heard it, if her perplexed and concerned expression was anything to go off of.

Meanwhile, the insidious monstrosity made another appearance, except this time it was far more sinister. He smiled deviously at the camera before fiercely glitching forward and staring at the audience with abyssal eyes, blood running down from the deep gash in his neck. The screen glitched out spastically only then to shortly reveal Anti slitting his own throat with a twisted jack o’ lantern-like grin plastered on his pale face. Anyone who was sane who would end up watching this would surely feel disturbed by seeing this. Witnessing a demented version of Jack cutting his own throat open – It would terrify millions. The nightmare fuel would be incredibly strong, and of course, Anti knew this. He wanted to send the message loud and clear to his creators. He was going to put an end to their loving Jacksepticeye, and if they truly didn’t want him to do it, then it was too late. They had seen him coming all month long, they couldn’t deny that. He had shown himself time and time again, making brief cameos in a majority of the Irishman’s videos and most often displaying completely manic behavior. There was no possible way that any of them couldn’t have noticed, let alone conclude what he was planning to do to the poor YouTuber. Yes, the demon had originally assumed that the community had given him life to get rid of Jack, but just to be sure, he had decided to give them a choice. He decided to wait and let it drag out until the end of the month. 

They had a whole month to put an end to the madness…and they did nothing.

They had made him wait for so long; getting increasingly more impatient to finally be able to possess his host. And finally – FINALLY – after seeing his creators do nothing to stop him, Anti grinned and knew exactly what that meant: they truly wanted to see their powerful creation at work and dispose of the YouTuber. And if that’s what they wanted, then he would do it with pride.

After a couple of minutes, Jack came back into the room, still looking shaken and on edge. He took his seat, his eyes traveling around the room nervously.

“Maybe it’s just the neighbours I’m hearing.” He said in an attempt not only to convince his community but himself as well. He was currently trying to conjure up any logical explanation for what he had heard, and it was becoming quite a feeble challenge. “Sounds like something, like, walking around or something like…stomping or banging. Christ.” He took quick nervous glances at the camera as he said this before attempting to distract himself with finishing carving Gerald. “Maybe I’m just paranoid ‘cause it’s Halloween.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the audience.

As Jack went back to cutting away at the pumpkin, it was plainly obvious at this point that something wasn’t right with the YouTuber. In comparison to how he had been at the beginning of the video, he didn’t seem nearly as cheery, energetic, or animated. He still put on a smile and carried on like all was okay.

Not a single thing was okay.

How he was able to continue on with the recording without having a mental breakdown was beyond him. At this point, he had had enough. The things he was hearing and thinking about, as well as how he had gotten a nosebleed and how he genuinely felt like he was being watched – and not just by the audience on the other side of the camera…He was shaken. He may have looked like he was having a fun time carving a pumpkin for Halloween, but there was nothing fun about this, not anymore. His heart was racing with apprehension and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the act. He NEEDED to wrap up the video. He NEEDED to finish working on Gerald and end the recording on letting the community know he was going to be on break for a week, explaining how he needed time for himself and Signe. He NEEDED to stop.

He was cutting out Gerald’s mouth when Anti got a strong whiff of fear coming off of the Irishman. It was so intense; it sent a shiver up the entity’s spine. A toothy Cheshire grin stretched across his face. That would do it. Immediately, he reached out to the YouTuber and pulled himself back into his body. Through the eternal darkness, he stormed up to the barrier, neon-green eyes searching for a larger opening. And sure enough, there was one. The amount of fear he had managed to pump into this weak excuse for a human being had lowered the barrier quite a bit, revealing a gaping opening just large enough for him to slip through. He giggled with sadistic pleasure at this, knowing exactly what had to be done in order for him to fully take control. He was going to have to kill him – or harm him severely at least. This was Jack’s body; he was the one in control. Anti was like a parasite in comparison, and as such, trying to possess the green-haired man would be a challenge. The only way he’d be able to yank the YouTuber out of the way was to harm him, make him lose consciousness. His eyes flickered a soulless black for a brief moment as he chuckled.

It was time for the Irishman to relive his nightmare – for real this time.

Jack had finally finished carving Gerald, wiping off the left-over marks on the pumpkin before showing him off to the camera. He was very pleased with the end result, but he knew that he had to wrap up the video. He smiled and went to grab the small knife, going to add some finishing touches before giving the news to the community. He glanced at the camera, still acting like he was okay.

“Okay! So the last thing you want to do is get your knife and you’re gonna have to do fine - .”

With no warning, his heart gave a painful pang in his chest, his blood freezing up all throughout his veins. He stared down at the jack o’ lantern in his hands, noticing how his vision was beginning to slowly fade in and out and how his breathing was oddly steading out, remaining calm. Something wasn’t right.

The edges of his vision were starting to go black, struggling to focus on what he had been doing. He heard something – an ominous, deep chuckle resounding all around him – before a high-pitched ringing pierced his eardrums. He went to wince and finally drop the act, cowering in fear…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He tried to raise his hands or even jerk his head, but he was frozen in place; his entire body paralyzed. He didn’t understand what was happening. He couldn’t control his body; he couldn’t physically move any one of his limbs no matter how hard he tried. Panic was settling in as he struggled. He was beginning to feel distant, like somehow he was a ghost and had no physical form to manipulate.

He suddenly felt himself raising his head, eyes meeting the lens of the camera; the red light on, indicating how it was still very much recording. His brows furrowed in confusion. He hadn’t been able to move his head, and yet, just now, he had felt himself move. But he hadn’t done that himself. He hadn’t wanted to look at the camera at all; if anything, he wanted to immediately get out of this room, call for Signe, and get help. None of this was normal! Everything finally came crashing down on him – something sinister and cruel was doing all of this, and quite frankly, he did not want anything to do with it. He was innocent – one of the kindest, most caring individuals anyone would ever meet. Some of his fans even considered him to be far too pure for this world. So why was this happening to him? Why had he been on a psychotic mental rollercoaster of hell for the last couple of weeks? He didn’t deserve this!

Looking directly at the camera, he lurched forward and screamed out for help, hoping like hell Signe – or anyone for that matter! – would hear him and come bursting through the door. But nothing came out of his mouth. His lips hadn’t even separated to release the scream. Instead, he realized that he was staring at the camera, deadpanned; eyes glazed over with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. No fear, no worry, nothing to show how terrified and desperate the man was. His expression was completely unreadable.

Not being able to manipulate his own body, Jack felt as well as watched as he slowly raised his right hand – the hand armed with the small carving knife. Like he had been struck with lightning, seeing that knife triggered a series of images from his nightmare to flash before his eyes at a dizzying speed; a compilation of every spine-tingling, heart-pounding, graphic scene that had occurred. The last image was of the demonic duplicate of himself, smirking wickedly and slicing his neck open, bleeding out. Jack felt his heart drop at the realization of what was happening. His nightmare was coming true. 

Desperately trying to gain control over his body, Jack writhed and wailed, pleading for whatever that was doing this to stop. Unfortunately for him, the creature that was in his head – the malignant mangled thing that had slid past the barrier and was now pulling at the strings – wasn’t listening, nor was it taking any pity on him. If anything, the monstrosity was taking twisted delight out of hearing the man’s screams. Helplessly, the Irishman watched himself raise the knife to this throat, feeling the cold press of the blade against his flesh. He squirmed as his breaths came out laboured, tears prickling at his eyes now. He needed to stop this, he couldn’t die! He could NOT die! 

“SIGNE!” He yelled, desperation tainting his shrill voice, tears leaving his eyes and racing down his cheeks. But once more, nothing escaped the poor man’s actual physical mouth. 

An abrupt psychotic laugh rang out through his mind as he continued to call out for his beloved girlfriend, holding onto a loose thread of hope. But it was too late. All hope was gone now.

Wincing in sudden agony, the green-haired YouTuber felt the blade pierce his skin. Arching forward and snapping his head back, Jack let out a bloodcurdling scream, searing-hot pain ripping through his throat as the knife slowly got dragged along his windpipe; tearing open the flesh and the fragile veins beneath. Though he wasn’t in control of his body, the Irishman felt everything. He felt his neck muscles spasming and getting pulled apart, while his veins and arteries got severed one after another; plucked at like strings on a guitar. He could feel the cold, razor-sharp blade digging deep into his throat, cutting open his trachea and having his blood flood inside. Thick streams of warm crimson rushed out of the wide gash in his neck as the smell of copper overcame him instantly. His vision was flashing red, fading in and out a whole lot slower now. 

_Lub-dub…lub-dub…lub…dub…lub……dub…_

All he could hear was his heart pounding violently but sluggishly in his ears, feeling extremely nauseated all of a sudden. He tried to give out one last scream for help only to sputter and choke on the blood he could taste in his mouth, not being able to breathe properly. He reached outward towards the camera, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to speak, but nothing came out except for a gurgling croak of pain. 

Hearing nothing but constant demonic, evil laughter reverberating all around him, the Irishman collapsed, feeling the ground slipping out from under him and falling through endless darkness. A force inside of him hauled him down, and it wasn’t until then that he truly did feel disconnected from his body. He no longer felt in control, he no longer felt any pain. He didn’t feel anything. He felt empty and cold. He WAS like a ghost. It was like his consciousness was getting dragged off somewhere, but where to, he didn’t know. Mustering as much strength as he had left, he called out one last time.

“HELP ME!”

And as he got sucked down into the abyss, all he kept asking himself before his eyes slipped shut was a haunting question that was festering in his gut: _Am I dead?_

* * * * *

He had finally done it. His plan had been a success and the demon could no longer contain his joy.  
He had killed his host, and oh the reaction he got had been totally worth the wait. Seeing and hearing the crippling mess of a man break down in tears and scream for help had been priceless. The Irishman didn’t know what had hit him until it was far too late. 

As soon as the glitchy manifestation had sliced open the man’s throat and let him drop dead, Anti slithered through the YouTuber’s insides and crawled underneath his skin, adjusting himself into his brand new meatsuit. With no warning, the dead bleeding-out man sprung up and reached out to the camera, letting loose a string of maniacal laughter as the screen glitched out spastically. The screen went black for a brief moment, only a muffled yell for help barely being audible in the darkness. Very faintly, the image began coming back, the entire room and everything in it now green with static breaking out every couple of seconds. There he sat exactly where Jack had been moments ago, now in control of the Irishman’s corpse. The entity was hunched over, head down, as his shoulders shook; soft cheerful yet unnerving giggling easily being heard coming from him. 

He had won.

With a violent glitch of the screen, Anti sat up straight and finally got to show off to his creators once and for all that he was here now, quite literally in the flesh. His behavior seemed a tad bit bipolar as he addressed his makers. One moment he’d be extremely pleased with what he had done and grin widely, letting out an occasional twisted laugh accompanied with a crazed look in his eyes. And the next, he’d  
display outrage and displeasure, stabbing the knife into Gerald; his head twitching and glitching in every which way violently, and the intervals in his voice changing drastically. At his core, he was boiling over with fury at how long he had had to wait for this day – how long they had all kept him impatiently waiting inside for the perfect time to strike and get what he earned. He even went as far as giving them all one big in-your-face reminder that this is what they had wanted, that all of this was their fault. It may have seemed like an attempt to get them to all feel guilt-ridden, but if they had truly wanted to stop Anti, they had had their chance and they blew it. And so, if there had been any few members of the fandom that had wanted to save Jack but didn’t, then they would take the blame half-heartedly. He would make them all remember this day, how they had given him life and set him loose on Jack like a rabid dog set off its lease to devour a vulnerable rabbit. 

However, as much as he was pissed off with the community, he couldn’t remain that way for long. After all, he was far more pleased with himself than ever. He had done exactly as they had wanted: He had cut Jack out of the picture – quite literally – and replaced him, giving his creators the dangerous, manic superior being they had wanted from the very beginning. And he was filled with pride, so much so that the smile on his face couldn’t come off. He was like a child, proudly showing off his work to his parents. Feeling his human body growing weak, he gave his last few unforgettable words to the audience, letting it sink into their heads that the Irishman was gone forever. And giggling happily, the screen went black and he collapsed in his chair; losing consciousness from the blood loss. As everything faded to black and he returned to inside the green-haired man’s head, the entity smiled brightly.

He had made his creators proud.

He had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of research for this chapter, and when I mean "research", I mean I rewatched "Say Goodbye" 3-4 times over - pausing it countless times, using the captions to capture every bit of dialogue, slowing it down to get the glitches and the Anti appearances, all of it. I scrutinized everything, searching for every detail I could get. And it was INSANE. I spent an hour and fifteen minutes putting together the list, and even then, when I was writing the chapter, I had to refer back to the video a few times to make sure I got some stuff right. 
> 
> Another thing, about this chapter. A majority of us have seen the video, so we are familiar with what happened and what led up to it. However, with this, what I wanted to do was take things that had happened in the video and give them answers. What I mean by that is at certain times in the video, there are some questionable moments that are left up to us as the viewers to decipher what's going on. For example, the part when Jack returns from going to check the hall after hearing a giggle. He sits down, grabs the knife, and takes a bit of a moment to look at it, almost in thought, before proceeding with cutting the pumpkin. I wanted to go ahead and expand of that part and explain what I think happened. There are quite a few parts in this that I did exactly that - took a questionable moment and gave it an answer.


	6. Stitched Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a few things about this before you go head first into it.
> 
> This takes place right after the screen goes black in "Say Goodbye", answering the question of what happened. The 7th chapter will be a direct continuation, focusing on what's happening with Jack.
> 
> This is long, and I mean long. It came out as 14 pages long on Word, and I apologize for that!
> 
> I did a LOT of unnecessary in-depth research for this chapter. I mean, I went and looked up all sorts of medical stuff, literally searching "how does someone survive a slit throat", "how to drain a person's lungs", "can someone survive having their trachea cut", etc. I looked up surgical operations, and unfortunately found one or two that showed step-by-step pictures and notes on how to do said operations. I'm squeamish and anything to do with surgery, operations, organs, and hospitals immediately makes me disturbed, upset, and uncomfortable all over, so I sacrificed my sanity to write this chapter 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter is incredibly graphic. There is a lot of blood, some abnormal “body horror”, and detailed descriptions of surgical operations being performed. There’s a horrible sense of dread, intensity, and helplessness throughout the entire duration of the chapter. Sharp surgical instruments are mentioned, and there are scenes of involving horrific hallucinations and psychological horror.   
> So if you are REALLY squeamish or have a hard time reading about surgical procedures, I would strongly advise you to skip this chapter. However, if you’re completely fine with what’s been listed, then I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also, fun fact! This entire fanfic series has been my first ever attempt at writing horror, and I’m truly pleased with how it’s been coming out so far, especially what with this chapter. I can’t wait to hear what you all have to say about this :) 
> 
> Another fun fact! There’s foreshadowing in this chapter….keep that in mind for the chapters to come ;)

Red…that’s all he saw…

All he could see was a thick hazy layer of crimson…  
All he could smell was the nauseating scent of copper…  
All he could hear was his heart pounding brutally in his head...  
All he could feel were bolts of pain charging throughout his body…  
All he could taste was his own blood…

He lay there on the cool flooring, his body shaking violently as he struggled to breathe; raising a trembling lanky hand to his torn throat, making a poor attempt at trying to stop the bleeding. The wound was deep, so much so it had gone through his trachea; blood gushing, spurting, and washing down into his lungs. He was choking, drowning in his own life force, and his vision was blurring; spots of black and red spattering the corners. He could barely hear properly now. All he could hear was his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, feeling like it’d burst forth out of his chest at any moment. Blood was flooding his mouth, gurgling and cascading down the corners of his lips as he tried to call out for help; ribbons of scarlet running out onto the ground, pooling under his head. 

He was dying. He may have been feebly making an effort at trying to think clearly at the moment, but he knew his life was slipping away at a fast rate. And if he didn’t get help within the next couple of minutes, he would die here, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

Blinking slowly with his hearing fading in and out, he managed to make out faint voices coming from different directions, echoing in his head, each increasing in loudness and approaching him. He shifted his eyes slightly to just barely see a few figures standing around him, all of which looked very similar to himself; green hair and all, the only differences being the distinct outfits they each donned. He couldn’t make out any of the words they were saying, but judging from the gasps of horror and how they seemed to jump back in alarm, he knew they were all stunned by the sight of him. None of them were moving to help him – not because they didn’t want to but because they didn’t know how. Unexpectedly, the startling bang of someone bursting through a set of doors sounded throughout the room, a snappy German voice accompanying it.

“Alright, vhat is going on? Vhat is all the commotion about? Vhat is - ?! Jesus Christ!” 

He didn’t see who had entered the room, let alone who was speaking, but given how the man was speaking, he had a sense the German had just now noticed his horrible condition. Through the red haze, he squinted slightly and struggled to see what looked like a doctor, who was now dropping to his knees and hovering over him.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me buddy? Vhat happened?!” The doctor asked, panic evident in his voice.

The green-haired man tried to give a reply, but only a torrent of blood spluttered out of his mouth; staining his shirt and spewing out onto his hands. The good doctor’s eyes grew wide as saucers, snapping his fingers impatiently at the other figures standing behind him.

“Someone get zee stretcher NOW!” He snapped, not taking his eyes off of the man bleeding out onto the floor. 

Henrik immediately tore off his coat, rolled it up, and forced it to the gaping wound in the paled YouTuber’s neck, adding pressure and trying to temporarily stop the flow of blood. He grabbed the man’s clammy hands and placed them over his coat as he stared at him intently.

“Keep pressure on zee vound, alright?” The German doctor jerked his head, looking over his shoulder. “Damn it! Vhere is the stretcher?!”

Almost as if on cue, the other egos came rushing towards him, wheeling a stretcher up to his side. Without having to give an order, the Irishman was carefully hauled off of the bloodstained ground and placed onto the stretcher before getting rushed through the exact same doors the doctor had entered from. His breathing was getting increasingly more raspy and shallow, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open, watching the blinding lights above him fly by at a blurring speed. 

“Stay avake, Jack. Come on, don’t pass out on me, buddy!” He heard the doctor’s voice echo, pleading for him to stay conscious.

Bolting for the E.R., Dr. Schneeplestein and his associates pushed and pulled the stretcher towards a set of doors leading into the good doctor’s operating room; barging through the doors and wheeling Jack over to where the operating table stood waiting for him.

“Alright, buddy, come on. Come on.” Carefully yet urgently, the Irishman was lifted from the stretcher and put onto the table. Right at that moment, the man lurched and harshly coughed up a mouthful of blood; a gross wheezing breath following after it. 

He heard the other green-haired men gasp, horrified at seeing him like this. As soon as blood fell from his lips, the doctor frowned and instantly whirled on his heel, raising his arms and motioning for everyone to leave.

“Get out! Everyone out! Everyone out now! Leave me to do my vork! Go!” He shouted, shoving his friends hurriedly towards the exit and out the doors before locking said doors. He could not afford to be bothered, not when he had to deal with his currently dying friend.

“NURSE! Get zee patient ready for surgery! Also, get me my coffee! I cannot vork vithout my caffeine intake!” The German shrieked.

Henrik didn’t waste time bolting for his surgical smock and mask, slipping them on in a hurry. He nearly tripped over his feet in the process at hearing the unpleasantly wet sounds coming from Jack practically drowning in his own bodily fluids. The doctor cursed repeatedly under his breath out of nervousness. 

“Don’t vorry, my friend. You’re in good hands.” He said in the most reassuring voice he could muster as he rushed to the YouTuber’s side. He noticed how his supposed “nurse” – someone he claimed helped him numerous times even though they had never once been seen by anyone – hadn’t done as he had instructed, and he grimaced. 

“Zhat stupid fucking bitch, never doing vhat is said. Goddamn it!” He groaned with irritation before giving Jack a reassuring smile. “I, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, vill fix you right up. Von’t zhat be nice, Jack? It be quick fix, I assure you. Zee doctor doesn’t lie.” He exclaimed before adjusting his mask over his nose and mouth, sliding on his glasses, and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves. 

Jack opened his reddened mouth in an attempt to speak, but the doctor pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. 

“Oh no, no, don’t speak. Can’t afford to vaste any energy.” Schneeplestein stated, moving the green-haired man’s hands away from the lab coat that was pressed against his throat.

Cautiously, the doctor pulled the coat away to inspect the deep pulsating gash, globules of blood continuing to flow out. The German cursed, his hand shaking momentarily at seeing just how fatal the wound was. If it had been just a cut – nothing too deep – this would’ve been an easy fix. He could’ve had him stitched up within a matter of minutes. But this…this was serious…this was incredibly lethal. Jack didn’t just have major arteries severed; his windpipe had been slit open as well, only allowing a majority of his blood to escape through it. 

The doctor swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out a breathy sigh. The man had had his rare cases of dealing with emergencies here and there, nothing extreme. But this…this was like nothing he had ever dealt with. He had never dealt with something as serious as this, let alone anything involving his friend – the one he and all of the other egos relied on. Jack had been the one to create each and every one of them, he gave them life. They all resided in a void invisible to the naked eye, the only individual able to access it being Jack. The egos remained happy living in their own individual fantasies, and Jack was the one who controlled this world they resided in. None of them had the power to control this world or Jack’s own body, only the Irishman could do that. However, with his subconscious here in the void, bleeding out fatally, Schneeplestein knew how incredibly horrific this was. It was crucial that his subconscious stay alive, stay in sync and attached to his body, because if not…if his subconscious died along with his physical body… 

The German’s heart stuttered at the thought, his blood running cold. He needed to act fast, even if he wasn’t fully prepared. He needed to stitch him back up and relink him back to his body. He needed to take drastic measures NOW.

Pushing the coat back down over the cut and placing Jack’s hands over it once more, he instructed, “Do not let go of zhis, do you understand? Keep pressure on zee vound at all costs.”

Not being able to give an answer, the Irishman simply kept his dead-white hands over the coat just as he had been told. Instantly, Henrik whipped out a pair of scissors and cut open the man’s shirt, tearing it open before rushing around aimlessly; hooking him up to his monitors so he could keep a close eye on his vitals. Almost immediately, there was something noticeably wrong. For some reason, there was nothing – no breathing rate, no heart rate, no blood pressure, nothing. The doctor frowned with puzzlement. That was odd, maybe he hadn’t hooked him up correctly? Perhaps the machines weren’t working properly? Schneeple faced Jack, immediately checking to see if each of the pads were in the correct position. With his back turned, the doctor didn’t notice how all of the screens momentarily glitched out, all now reading the YouTuber’s vitals. At hearing the sound of the systems working, the doctor whirled around to get a good look, and instantly he took note of everything wrong with the green-haired man. He noticed how his heart rate was irregular, one minute spiking incredibly high and the next steadying down. His blood pressure was off the charts and his breathing was becoming worse as each second flew by. 

“Fucking Christ, Jack, vhat did you do to yourself?” The German questioned, eyes shifting from the monitors back to his patient, who was growing worse in condition at an alarming rate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he noticed a petite smirk tugging at the Irishman’s crimson-stained lips, almost like he was amused for some unknown reason. Just as quick as that smirk had appeared, it disappeared as the man lurched again; turning his head to the side as another mouthful of blood projected out, splattering to the floor beneath. Analyzing the situation and taking note of just how horrible Jack’s breathing was, the doctor knew exactly what had to be done. He was going to have to perform both a tube thoracostomy and a tracheostomy. However, he had never once gone through with either procedure on a patient. He knew how both worked and what was involved, but he had never actually done either, which instantly overwhelmed him with anxiety. If he didn’t do either one of the operations correctly, one slip up would immediately kill Jack. But if he didn’t try, Jack would end up dying anyway. 

_There’s no time for this!_ The doctor scolded himself. _You need to operate NOW or he is going to die! You cannot let him die!_

Not having any time to fully run through his plan, Henrik realized he was going to have to take immediate action without first preparing the primary steps of the operation. He had learned in “Doctor College” that when it came to emergencies like this, he always had to remember ABC: Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. But given the current situation and of just how gruesome of a condition Jack was in, that order would have to change. Jack could barely breathe, what with his windpipe cut and having his lungs flooding with blood. The doctor had to first get him to breathe before he could even remotely think about fixing the wound. However, given how much little time he had on his hands, Henrik had absolutely no time to take out a marker and indicate where the incision would be made. If he did that, it’d only slice off a valuable chunk of time he’d need to save Jack. He would have to eyeball it.

The good doctor turned to a nearby stainless steel table and grabbed for a syringe, immediately filling it with anesthetic. He kept eyeing the green-haired man lying on his operating table as he did this, constantly estimating just how much time he had left. Once the syringe was full, he set the vial of anesthetic down, and with one hand holding the syringe, he used his free hand to move Jack’s left arm out of the way, exposing his bare side to him. Dr. Schneeplestein stared at the skin, eyeballing where he’d inject the needle before proceeding with the operation. After a brief moment of figuring out the exact spot, he pressed the needle into the Irishman’s side, right between where his ribs were. He felt the man tense up a bit under him, a soft whimper slipping past the Irishman’s bloody lips. Schneeple took a quick glance at him.

“Trust me, my friend, zhis is for your own good.” He pulled the syringe away, throwing it over onto the steel table before reaching for a scalpel. “Now I von’t lie – zhis vill probably hurt.”

Adjusting the overhead light and zeroing in on where he had injected the anesthetic, Henrik carefully pressed the blade of the scalpel into his flesh, making an incision in the direction of one of Jack’s ribs. Unfortunately for the YouTuber, the anesthetic hadn’t fully kicked in yet, and immediately, his entire body went rigid at the sudden pain; a choked gasp erupting from his slashed throat. With his free hand, the doctor tried to steady him; resting his hand over his chest.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I know, bear vith me here, please.” He said sincerely, his eyes never leaving the incision he was making.

Deeming the cut large enough, Henrik set the scalpel aside, reached for one of his Kelly clamps, and taking a worrisome glance at his patient, used the clamp to bluntly dissect a tract into the tissue; slowly pulling open the two flabs of muscle. Almost instantly, Jack’s breathing hitched and became far more uneven than it had been before. He was already in so much pain, but now with a new opening in his body, he really was starting to feel faint, and Schneeple could sense it. He patted his chest gently.

“You’re doing fine, Jack. Relax, it’ll be alright, I promise you zhis.” He cooed before inserting a gloved finger into the opening, making sure the tract ended at the upper border of Jack’s rib. He scoffed. “Vhen have I ever lied to you?”

The Irishman bit down on his lip at feeling this, his head throbbing as his vision began to swim. The pain was beginning to take a hold of him. Recognizing the signs and knowing he had to continue forward, the doctor extracted his finger and hurried to fill up a syringe with more anesthetic. Once full, he launched the vial of anesthetic away and over his shoulder, not at all caring where it went or if it damaged anything. He was far more concerned for Jack at the moment. He proceeded to insert it into the exposed muscles, knowing fully well that if he didn’t supply his patient with more anesthetic, he would lose him to the agony he was currently enduring. Once again carelessly chucking the syringe away, the doctor used a larger clamp to pry open the muscle, enlarging the dissected tract through all layers of the chest wall. At that moment, a considerable amount of blood spewed and gushed out onto the table; some absorbing into Jack’s jeans and managing to flow out over the side of the table, streaming down to the tiled flooring.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The doctor panicked momentarily, fumbling with a set of forceps as he tried to stop the unforeseen bleeding. The last thing he needed was for his patient to lose even more of his life force. As quickly as he could, he expertly closed off the severed vessels before continuing on with the operation. 

“Nurse! Hook up zee drainage system, STAT!” 

Schneeple inserted his finger again, probing Jack’s insides for lung tissue and possible adhesions. Audible wet and squishy sounds grew more in volume as the doctor continued to feel around the Irishman’s muscles and veins; little blood leaking out onto his gloved hand. He frowned, getting frustrated in not immediately finding any.

“Come on, come on! Vhere are you? Zhere’s no time for zhis!” Finally, he felt something and pulled out his finger, now dripping with gore. 

Realizing how his “nurse” hadn’t set up the system he required, with not a moment to lose, the doctor searched the room for the drainage machine he’d need to use, noticing immediately how he had misplaced it.

“Fuck!” He shifted around awkwardly, not knowing whether to stabilize the incision first or take a risk and tear up the room for the damned machine he needed to SAVE JACK’S ASS!

Growling in frustration, Henrik bolted, running around the operating room, shoving things out of the way and trying to recall where he had left that blasted machine.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Zee one day somezhing incredibly urgent like zhis happens, and zee one zhing I need in order to do zhis is missing! Muzherfucka!” The foul-mouthed surgeon yelled, lashing out and swiping a whole month’s worth of important paperwork and instruments off of a nearby table.

Through his outburst, he made out the sound of constant bubbling and gurgling, followed by a harsh disgusting breath. He whipped his head up and directed his attention over to where his patient was lying in a pool of his own blood, immediately spotting the smile on the green-haired man’s face. Even though he was practically drowning, it almost seemed like the man was making an effort to laugh. The doctor grimaced, both put off and not understanding how the man could be finding any of this funny.

“Oh vell, good to see someone is enjoying himself, even zhough zhat someone is currently in the process of DYING!” He snapped, scrambling around for the equipment he needed. “Vhat is so funny? Is it the lightheadedness? I zhink you’ve lost too much blood zhere, Jack. But don’t vorry about zhat, ve’ll deal vith zhat in a moment. Very easy fix, I assure you.” He stated, even though deep down, he admittedly had his doubts.

Coincidentally, under the table he stood by was the machine he required and instantly, he didn’t hesitate. He hauled the machine off the ground and dashed back over to his bleeding patient. After fumbling with the equipment, he grabbed the tubing and returned his attention to the gaping hole in Jack’s side. Using the clamp to widen the opening a bit further, the doctor carefully began to feed the thoracic catheter through the hole, gently pushing it through the Irishman’s muscles and into his chest cavity; a gross nauseating squish emitting from it. Some blood gushed out of the hole, oozing out onto Dr. Schneeplestein’s gloved hands, but he didn’t care. As soon as he knew the tube had managed to slip all the way inside, he flipped on the switch for the machine, instantly watching the tube flood with crimson warm blood; rushing out of Jack’s lung and into the jug down at Henrik’s feet. 

“Ha ha! Vunderbar!” The doctor let out an abrupt nervous laugh at this, not believing how his plan had worked…that was until he noticed how Jack was breathing both shallowly and rapidly.

The doctor’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a chance to get anything out. With no warning, the lights flickered for a fleeting moment, followed shortly by a sharp ringing erupting in his ears. Henrik yelped at the sudden pain, hands flying up to his ears to block out the noise. His eyes went from Jack to wildly searching around the room, wondering where the ringing was coming from. The lights flickered once more, except this time they blacked out. Everything powered down – the monitors, the drainage system, everything. Now was the time to panic.

With no lights or equipment, there was no possible way for the doctor to continue working on Jack. He couldn’t see a single thing in the room; it was pitch-black. All he could hear was the constant ear-piercing ringing, as well as Jack’s wet gurgling breaths and his own breathing, which was beginning to increase now.

“Oh come ON! Zhis can’t be happening! Zhere’s no time for zhis bullshit!” The doctor exclaimed with anger, not daring to move from where he was since he couldn’t see anything around him.

Through the ringing that was driving him crazy, very faintly he managed to make out a giggle. An eerie childish giggle that made the hairs on the back of the doctor’s neck stand up on end.

“Hello? Who’s zhere?” He called out into the darkness. “Zhis is no time for joke! I svear to God, if you’re responsible for all of zhis, I vill kill you!”

Another giggle sounded, coming from right beside the German; becoming distorted and scratchy this time. He jumped with alarm, shoving his hands in the direction of where the giggle came from, but didn’t come into contact with anything. His heart was thudding against his ribcage madly, fear seeping into his veins. He literally did not have any time for this. If the power didn’t come on soon, it would be too late. Suddenly, the lights and monitors returned to life, and he found himself standing over the operating table, looking down on his patient. However, something was very wrong. 

The patient he was staring down at wasn’t Jack anymore – it was himself. There he lay with his wrists and ankles bound to the table; restrained from any movement. He was unconscious and his mask, glasses, and cap had been removed. The doctor stood there in both alarm and confusion, not understanding what was happening. What was going on? Why was he staring down at a copy of himself? Hadn’t he been operating on Jack a moment ago? 

Henrik went to move, only to realize he couldn’t; his hands didn’t react to the order. Watching with wide eyes, he felt himself reach for an orbitoclast – an ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – resting on the table beside him. He grabbed it along with the small hammer settled beside it, moving himself into position; hovering right over the head of his duplicate. Instantly, the doctor’s heart rate spiked. He could hear his blood rushing through his ears loudly as he helplessly raised the pick over the duplicate’s right eye, aiming it right for the corner of his eye socket. 

At that precise moment, to his surprise, the doctor watched the eyes of his copy shift under his eyelids before fluttering open, directly looking up at him with confusion first, before having the compromising, vulnerable situation he was currently in dawn over him. The poor man started writhing on the table, violently tugging and pulling at his restraints, trying desperately to break free and get away from the man who was about to lobotomize him. His eyes even began to water from fear of what was going to be done to him, shaking his head repeatedly, and pleading out for release. Henrik was horrified at the sight. His nerves were rattling from shock, a tremor of true full-blown disturbance burrowing its way through his body. He couldn’t do this – whether it was actually happening or not, he could NOT DO THIS! 

Struggling to restrain himself and gain control over his own body, Dr. Schneeplestein desperately tried to pull himself away from the table. Feeling like a puppet having his strings tugged at, the doctor watched as he took a moment to grab the man by the hair and violently bash the back of his head into the table, momentarily putting a stop to the copy’s struggles. Henrik then bore witness to complete and utter horror as he suddenly brought the hammer down, impaling the orbitoclast through the corner of his copy’s eye. Blood spurted out and into his face, causing him to flinch and gasp in alarm; a hair-raising scream getting ripped from the duplicate of himself. He watched as a line of crimson weaved out of the wound as he hammered away at the pick, feeling, seeing, and hearing it sink further into his copy’s skull; a loud crack erupting very suddenly. Henrik’s breaths were coming out laboured and rather shaken now, heart pounding harshly as he felt bile rise in his throat. He felt like he was going to be sick.

And very suddenly, with a blink of his eyes, he found himself hovering over a bleeding-out Jack; the duplicate of himself nowhere in sight, nor were the lobotomy tools he’d just used. Panting wildly, the doctor’s eyes flew across the entire operating room; trying to decipher if this was real time and that none of what he just seen and endured had actually happened. The German took a moment to take in deep breaths, having been scarred by what he had just gone through. What the hell had that been about? What had caused that? Why had he suddenly blacked out and had some sort of vision of him giving a copy of himself a lobotomy – all while operating on Jack, no less? 

He couldn’t come up with a reason as to why any of that had happened, let alone why it had felt so incredibly vivid, like it had in fact actually happened. He didn’t have time to dwell too much on the thought either, given how he instantly noticed how his patient was breathing shallowly.

Henrik watched the Irishman intently, dismay gleaming in his eyes and fear panging in his chest. “Jack? Jack, buddy? Are you…Are you still vith me?” He lightly tapped him with a bloodied hand. “Jack?” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming from him, although it was very obviously laced with concern. “C-Come on, zhis is no time to be joking around vith me. I’m trying to save your life, you know!”

There was no response. He scanned his body, taking notice of how he was shaking all over, he was sweating profusely, and how his lips and fingertips had quickly become blue – when had that happened?! For a brief moment, Henrik’s brows furrowed in confusion, not yet entirely piecing everything together. And what was that irritating beeping sound? Where the hell was that coming from? It was agitating him greatly.

“For fuck’s sake, vhat is zhat blasted noise?! I can’t vork vith such racket!” He turned to see what was causing the sound and in seconds flat, the poor doctor felt his stomach drop.

Oh no…..No, no, no, no, NO!

The heart monitor – it was going off like mad! Jack’s heart rate was skyrocketing, racing wildly, struggling to keep pumping blood throughout his body. Dr. Schneeplestein immediately whirled around to face his patient, FINALLY concluding what was so horrible about was happening. Too much blood was getting into his lungs – He couldn’t breathe! He was going into hypovolemic shock! The green-haired man’s eyes were shifting back and forth weakly, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before slipping shut; falling unconscious from both the pain he was in and the blood loss. 

The doctor’s eyes shot open in horror, shaking his head rapidly. “No…No, no, no, NO! Zhis cannot be! Zhis isn’t happening! I can fix zhis! I can fix zhis!” He repeated to himself aloud, trying to return some hope to himself.

In a hurry, he crudely stitched up the gaping hole in the man’s side; securely keeping the blood-filled tube in place and pricking his finger more than once while doing so. As soon as he did this, he didn’t at all hesitate to fall into phase two. The Irishman needed air, and with his trachea cut, there was no way for him to breathe properly. Hastily the doctor moved his scrunched up, now completely blood-soaked coat away from Jack’s throat and threw it clear across the room. Luckily, much of the bleeding had stopped, but there was still some coming; leaking out and oozing through Henrik’s vinyl-covered fingers. He felt for the man’s pulse, both feeling and seeing it throbbing at a rapid pace.

“Shite!” The surgeon cursed, a crimson-covered hand reaching for his scalpel once more. He let out a shaky breath as he went to make an incision into the YouTuber’s neck, a little below where the wound was. His hands were trembling now, dread and a terrible nauseating wave of despair settling into his gut. He shook his head, trying to stay focused. “Alright…Alright, Schneeple, come on. You can do zhis, huh? Zhis isn’t a problem; you can fix zhis easy.” He kept attempting to convince himself as he reached for a clamp and stretched open the muscles of his patient’s throat; exposing his trachea to him.

Almost immediately, at seeing this and the amount of blood pouring out, Schneeplestein gagged and instantly flung backward, bringing a glove-clad hand to his mouth and nearly stumbling over the wires and cables of his equipment in the process. 

“Vhat ze fuck?!” The doctor screamed abruptly, his breathing coming out laboured and rather shaken. He stared in horror at the body on the operating table, not caring or seeming to notice how he now had blood smeared over his mask. What he saw was not normal – nothing he’d learned in “Doctor College”, that’s for certain. No, nothing about what he’d seen was of human biology. 

When he went to open up Jack’s throat, blood wasn’t the only thing to leak out – some sort of black slime-like substance gushed out along with it. And that wasn’t all. Weaving out all along the man’s trachea were what looked like veins, but they weren’t red or blue; they were a festering green, spots of black plaguing the entire windpipe. The entire thing looked severely infected, the muscle around it only looking just as bad; lines of black branching out and pulsating with darkness. He could’ve sworn he had seen something slither underneath the muscle as well. It was almost like there was something living beneath the skin and inside the veins, like a parasite was involved. But what kind of parasite could do this to a human being?

Feeling his heart thump with trepidation and beads of perspiration coming to his forehead, Henrik barely collected himself and approached the table, eyeing the abnormality of Jack’s throat before taking nervous glances back at the heart monitor. Realizing his time was dissipating expeditiously, the doctor couldn’t let this disturbing discovery get in the way of the task at hand. He only had so much time, and if he didn’t do something now, he’d probably lose another patient on this operating table.

His heart jumped at that thought. He had lost many patients before, and every time it had left a brand new scar in his chest; forever fueling him with guilt. But if Jack – his best friend – were to suddenly become no different than any of those other patients he had failed to revive…If he weren’t able to save the man who was responsible for himself and the other egos…

He felt his heart give another painful pang as tears threatened to come to his eyes. He shut his eyes for a quick moment, shaking his head.

“No…No! Stop it! Get your head in zee game! You can save him. You VILL save him!” A clenched fist came down onto the nearby table fiercely, a loud abrupt bang coming from the impact. It was very evident at this point that the doctor was becoming increasingly more frustrated.

Noticing how Jack’s chest was barely even moving anymore, Schneeple immediately set back to work. With bloodied hands, he rustled around for his haemostatic forceps; finding them blindly. Adjusting the overhead light so he could get a better view, ever so carefully he tried to close off any vessels; attempting to keep the blood flow to an all-time low. He then proceeded to place his set of tracheal dilators through the opening, expanding it by turning the screw; widening the incision further. As soon as the contraption pulled open the space, Henrik noticed his vision throb and start to swim for a moment; the light above him flickering unsteadily once again. He blinked, shaking his head and struggling to stay focused. 

_What’s going on? Why are you having such trouble concentrating?_ He questioned himself, transfixed on the pulsing blackened veins coiled around Jack’s trachea. _Come on, focus. Focus, damn it!_

But that was easier said than done. His head felt heavy all of a sudden, the edges of his vision going black. He blinked slowly, everything blurring for a quick moment before a wave of glitches abruptly scattered over Jack’s neck right before the doctor’s own eyes. The light flickered spastically as Henrik’s heart pounded in his ears, watching something pulse throughout the green-haired man’s throat. He found himself fascinated and reaching a gloved finger into the black and green trachea, the open wound squelching and sucking his finger in. His eyes widened, gleaming with disgust and horror as he slowly pulled his finger and thumb back, extracting a long thick string of blackened organic matter; some veins still linked to it and getting stretched out the more the string was pulled. Bile rose in his throat, a wave of nausea hitting him dead on. His fist-sized organ of innocence gave a painful jolt within his chest at the sight. This was beyond disturbing for him; this was beyond what he could handle. His vision glitched out again when he went to blink, the darkened string that he had pulled from the man’s throat completely gone. 

Dr. Schneeplestein stumbled backward, reaching a hand back to steady himself on a nearby table only for that table to wheel away and cause him to collapse to the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the body on his operating table, noticing a stream of black oozing out from the cut in Jack’s throat and running down his arm, which was outstretched and hanging limply over the edge of the table. The poor surgeon couldn’t even begin to understand what the hell was going on. He felt like he was living in a horror movie, scared beyond comprehension. This was too much; he was going to go insane! He shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying desperately to calm his heart and steady his breathing, but to no avail. For Christ’s sake, his hands were trembling! He couldn’t work like this; it would only lead into disaster!

The German doctor reached up for the ledge of a stable table, pulling himself up onto his wobbly weak-kneed legs. Stumbling forward, he dashed for a nearby counter and grabbed for his mug of stale coffee, which surely must’ve been lukewarm at this point. He then flew open every cupboard door, tossing anything and everything out until he finally found what he needed: a bottle of diethyl ether. Letting out a shaky on-the-verge-of-having-a-mental-breakdown breath of air, Schneeple hurried to unscrew the cap, throw it off to the side somewhere, yank his mask off, and take several big gulps of the fluid; not at all giving a damn how he was resorting to intoxicating himself in hopes to calm himself down enough. Pulling himself back from the bottle, the man poured a vast amount of the drug into his coffee; filling the mug to the brim before setting the bottle aside and taking a gulp of his drink. Staggering back over to the operating table and nearly slipping in the puddles of blood surrounding it, the doctor slammed down his mug of drugged coffee onto the nearby steel table; beginning to feel the effects of the drug kicking in.

“Alright…Okay…Pull yourself togezher, man!” The unsteady, increasingly disoriented surgeon shouted at himself, making a poor attempt to stand up straight. He lazily readjusted his mask on his face and looked back at his patient, using a bloodied hand to pat his shoulder gently. “Don’t vorry, buddy. Everyzhing is okay, everyzhing is alright. Death is overrated – who needs zhat?” He squinted slightly, his vision blurring for a brief moment. “Are you in pain, buddy? Can you feel anyzhing?” He was evidently intoxicated at this point, proven by how he barely recalled how Jack was currently unconscious. He leaned forward, moving a hand to get a better look at the inside of his throat. “Easy fix….Easy fix….” He muttered to himself over and over.

While being cautious to keep anymore blood from escaping, the good doctor leaned over to grasp a tracheal tube, which would allow Jack to breathe when inserted. Carefully, he wedged the tube through the opening of his trachea; granting the YouTuber a temporary airway until his neck could be fixed thoroughly. Much blood was covering Henrik’s hands now; lines of still warm wet crimson running down his arms. Some had managed to also spurt out on his chest during the procedure, but he hadn’t taken any notice in it; all of his attention had been transfixed on fixing Jack. Once the tube had been successfully inserted, he leaned back and let out a sigh of relief, running the back of his gore-drenched hand across his exposed forehead, leaving a long thick smear of blood and matter on his pale skin. His eyes went from the tube to the wide-open gash in the Irishman’s throat. Only one thing left to fix. He could do this, he could do this, he could – 

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeep….._

Dr. Schneeplestein immediately jerked his head in the direction of the heart monitor, alarmed and horrified to see that the line had suddenly dropped flat. There was no pulse and the man wasn’t breathing anymore! His stomach dropping at the sound, the doctor didn’t even stop to think first; he dropped his tools and raced for the defibrillator, just barely tripping over any cables. In seconds flat he was at the Irishman’s side, immediately setting up the defibrillator and putting gel onto the paddles. Cranking up the machine and charging the paddles, Schneeple quickly moved his mask and grabbed for his mug of ether-laced coffee; downing another two gulps of the liquid. Wasting no time, he picked up the paddles, rubbed them together fiercely before pressing down hard onto Jack’s chest; a violent electrical shock getting sent through his body. He listened for any sign of a pulse, but there was none. He pulled back and recharged the paddles, rubbed them together once more, and tried again; another jolt of electricity striking the YouTuber’s heart. Still nothing.

“Come on, damn it! You vill not die on me, do you hear me?! Not today!” The unhinged surgeon burst out of fear. He recharged the paddles, rubbed them again, and sent another shock into the man. “Stay vith me, buddy, come on! I vill not let you die! You cannot die on me!” He waited a moment before giving him another violent shock. “If you go down, ve all go down vith you! Damn it, Jack! Come on! Vake up!” Another shock.

Repeatedly the doctor tried desperately to restart his friend’s heart, refusing to let him go that easily. And he wasn’t lying – if Jack’s subconscious died here and now, then Schneeple and the other egos were at a high risk of dying along with him. He needed to live in order for them to continue living, there was no other way! As the good German doctor continued with his poor efforts, he didn’t take notice of how the YouTuber’s fingertips were twitching slightly, almost in a spastic manner every few seconds. He also didn’t notice how the lower half of the man glitched out intensely for a slight second, like something was trying to remain stable…

Tears were coming to the doctor’s eyes with each attempt, and he was trying so hard at holding them back, knowing this was no time for crying. He was truly beginning to lose hope at a fast rate, an overwhelming sense of despair suffocating him and clouding his already intoxicated mind. Any and all confidence he had had at the start was completely one hundred percent gone – totally nonexistent. He was failing as a doctor, failing to save his friend Jack – the man responsible for him and the other egos. He could not live whatever would remain of his life with Jack’s blood on his hands – both literally and figuratively speaking. He would truly die on the inside, and it would only prove how much of a failure and a humiliation he was as a doctor to both his wife and kids, who had already left him a month ago. The poor man was already broken; he couldn’t afford to lose the one person who still viewed him with respect.

“Jack, please.” He pleaded through tear-blurred eyes. “I need you, buddy.” He blinked, a few tears running down his cheeks. “Ve all need you!”

Finally, with one more jolt of electricity through to the Irishman’s heart, there was a pulse; the line on the monitor spiking slightly. Jack’s chest slowly but surely began to rise and fall steadily, air getting to him through the tube Schneeplestein had surgically implanted into him. His heart beat was very low and just barely there, but it would give the doctor enough time. Flinging the defibrillator paddles away and taking another long gulp of his ether coffee, Henrik dove for the man’s throat, FINALLY setting to work on closing off his major arteries. 

“Yes! Come on, buddy, don’t fail me just yet! Zhere’s still hope! All of zhis vill be over soon, I svear on my name!” He exclaimed, sealing the YouTuber’s arteries shut and closing his trachea. “You’re not dead yet, zhere’s still plenty of time to fix!”

He had gone and set up an IV for the Irishman, inserting the needle into his arm and getting new blood into his body before proceeding to suture up the slit in his neck. It was right at that moment when he felt his heart jolt harshly in his chest, followed by something warm and wet running from his nose. Getting a whiff of copper, he dragged his mask downward and ran the back of his sleeve along his nose, watching as a smear of red showed up. Before he even had time to question the bizarre occurrence, the doctor’s heart gave another pang of pain, and his vision started to swim once more, much worse than earlier. The lights were starting to flicker again, an icy cold gust of air now circulating the room and causing the poor surgeon to shudder violently. Faintly, voices echoed throughout the back of his mind, all distorted yet overlapping each other. He had a difficult time deciphering what they were whispering to him, but he managed to make out a few words.

**“K-Kill….”**  
**“H-He’s d-dead alre-eady…”**  
 **“Gr-rant…”**  
**“Can’t sa-a-ave him…”**  
 **“YoU iDioT!”**  
**“M-Me…”**  
**“D-Dead…”**  
 **“G-Give…l-li-ife…”**  
**“Access…”**  
 **“LeT ME iN!”**  
**“D-Dead in-inside…”**  
**“FiNIsH IT!”**

The doctor was feeling nauseated, his head spinning and like the world was tilting on its side. His breaths were increasing in speed, as was his heartbeat. His vision was fading in and out as he desperately tried to focus on fixing his patient. The instruments upon his steel table began to rattle with no explainable reason as to why, and a few of the lights were bursting; sparks flying through the air with each explosion. He could make out the heart monitor going off like mad, before slowing down considerably, daring to fall flat again. Henrik panted and growled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“No….No! I’ve had enough!” He grabbed his mug of coffee and downed the rest before bolting up and throwing it across the room into the main doors out of a sudden burst of rage. “Fuck it! Zhis is it! I’m ending zhis NOW!”

Though the words getting hissed into his ear were taunting him repeatedly and everything occurring around him was driving him into madness, the doctor didn’t let any of it stop him this time. Not even when he looked to Jack’s open neck to see black sludge leak out. Grabbing his needle and thread and readjusting the head light for the last time, Dr. Schneeplestein pricked the man’s shredded flesh; hooking the needle through the layer of muscle and pulling at it from the other side. In and out the needle went, getting repeatedly stabbed into the sickeningly pale blood-smeared skin; crudely stitching the gaping wound shut. Blood stained the doctor’s fingers and he pricked himself more than once, but he remained focused, even though his vision was seriously beginning to fade out. With each stitch, there was a violent glitch from the patient’s lower half; his fingers twitching and curling inward. And with the doctor’s attention on Jack, he didn’t notice let alone hear the heart monitor glitch out behind him; lines of static weaving out across the screen.

“Come on….Come on…Zhere ve go.”

With the wound now finished, he took a step back, chucking the gore-soaked needle off onto the table; letting out a shaky, tired breath of exhaustion. He stood there and kept his eyes fixed on Jack, hoping like hell he’d give a response, or better – wake up.

Unexplainably, everything came to a halt. The lights all shut off only then to return back on. His equipment and instruments were no longer shaking. His vision adjusted back to normal and the voices he had been hearing faded almost immediately. Henrik slowly approached the table, tearing his surgical mask away from his face as he stared down at his friend, waiting impatiently for a sign.

“Jack?...Jack, buddy?...Can you hear me?” 

No response. He gently shook his shoulder.

“Jack?”

Unknowingly to the doctor, from behind him, the heart monitor suddenly glitched out violently, only then to reveal the heart rate going at a normal, steady pace. With a start, Jack’s eyes flew open and he lurched forward, gasping for air. Blink and anyone would miss it, but for a fleeting second, the eyes of the Irishman flashed a sickening neon green. And unfortunately, the doctor had in fact blinked. 

“Jack! Oh zhank Christ, you’re alive!” Henrik shouted with relief, putting a hand over his own chest to steady his poor heart.

The green-haired man on the bloodied table blinked, turning his head slightly to notice the doctor before turning his attention downward; taking in the sight of his condition. The hose securely stitched into the side of his ribs, the blood all over his pants and the table, the feeling of the breathing tube in his neck…

Slowly, the YouTuber shrugged his shoulders, leaned back on his arms, and carefully sat up, Schneeple assisting him.

“Careful, you’re still in very bad shape.” The doctor cautioned. “Don’t vant any of your stitches coming undone.”

Sitting hunched over on the crimson-drenched table now, the Irishman gently moved his neck from side to side, testing out his limits of movement; feeling a painful stinging stretch in his neck muscles at moving too much. Letting out a raspy sigh, the man slowly lifted his hands, sticky with his own blood. He looked down at them, rotating his wrists and getting a good look at both the front and back of them. He clenched his fingers, almost seeming like he was testing them out…  
Almost like he was adjusting to his body for the very first time…

Henrik reached for his blood-spattered glasses and pulled them off, letting out a shaky breath as he set them off to the side. He kept his eyes on Jack, scanning his body for any signs of something wrong.

“Do you feel alright? Pain is to be expected and is completely normal, and you cannot leave until full recovery.” He advised.

He didn’t receive a response; Jack was still looking over his hands and then down at his bare, crimson-speckled chest. He seemed to be taking in everything, at least that’s what Schneeple thought. Given everything that had happened, he’d understand why his friend was acting so strange.

“So…how do you feel?”

The Irishman flexed his fingers once more, gently rolling his shoulders back as he did so. A deep rumbly groan came from his throat, almost sounding like he was pleased. After a long pause, a small smirk tugged at the corner of the man’s lips as he shifted his eyes to the doctor who had stitched him together – who had resurrected him.

The doctor who had granted him access.

**“Like I could take on the world.”**


	7. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place directly after Part 6, now centering on Jack and what happened to him. It will cover anything that wasn’t made clear in the previous chapter. Also, this chapter is dark, especially near the end. Warning! There will be feels!
> 
> I’m so sorry (not sorry)

Bolting upright and gasping for air, he awoke to complete and utter darkness.

It was pitch-black where he was, nothing but pure black in his wake. And it was also warm, rather hot actually. It took him a brief moment to even realize how he was beginning to sweat bullets given the temperature of the room he was currently in – that is if it was a room. Where was he? He couldn’t see a damn thing; there was no telling where he was. Was this real time? Was he dreaming? Unconscious? He didn’t know what to think. All he could hear was his own uneven gasps of breath and the pounding of his heart beating away in his ears. He was sitting on a cemented ground; he could tell from how uncomfortable he was. He squinted, trying to make out anything in the darkness.

“Hello?” He called out, hoping that maybe someone would hear him.

The only response he got was the echo of his own voice bouncing off of the unseen walls. Right as he rose to his feet, the green-haired Irishman froze where he stood. There was something of which felt a lot like metal cuffing both of his wrists and ankles, and as he had picked himself up off of the ground, a scratchy ear-piercing sound came from below, like the clattering of chains. Feeling at his wrists, his eyes widened in surprise to find that they were shackled, and though he couldn’t see, he had a horrible feeling his ankles were in just the same condition. He gave a tug of his wrists and took a few steps forward, testing his mobility and his limits. Grasping onto a chain, he began to pull himself in the direction of it until he reached out and bumped into what felt like a brick wall. A sense of panic began to swell in his gut as he turned and bolted forward, running smackdab into a set of metal bars. Shaking off the unexpected pain, the Irishman blindly felt around for the bars, the situation he was in finally starting to dawn over him. He was in a prison cell and was currently being kept prisoner. For who or what, he hadn’t a clue, nor did he want to know. More than anything, he wanted to know where he was.

Why was he locked up in chains? Why was it so dark and so warm? Was this Hell? Is that where he was – in his own personal Hell? What had happened before he had woken up? What had – 

And very unexpectedly, like he had gotten struck with a bolt of lightning, memories poured into his brain like a rushing waterfall.

He had been recording his Halloween video. There had been sounds coming from the hall – eerie childish laughter and loud thumping. His nose had bled – something that very rarely ever happened to him – and there was the overwhelming sense of something there in the room with him, like he was being watched…Like something was toying with him. At one point, he had found himself transfixed on the kitchen knife he had used to carve his pumpkin, a compelling urge corrupting him to know what that blade would feel like slicing through his neck. It happened so quickly. He had felt like a puppet getting its strings tugged at, having any power or control over his actions robbed from him. 

Staring emotionless into the still-recording camera…  
Raising the knife to his throat…  
Searing-hot pain as he slowly dragged the sharp cool blade along the skin and cut deep; severing his veins and windpipe…  
Nausea and the sickening scent of copper plaguing the air…  
His vision swimming in a red haze…  
Psychotic laughter echoing, coming from every which direction…  
Crimson washing down into his lungs, the beginning of drowning in his own life force…  
Blood…So. Much. Blood.

With a gasp of horror, a hand shot up to his throat, instantly feeling for a large gash and expecting to run his fingers through hot sticky blood leaking out. But to his surprise, there was nothing there. No torn skin, no warm substance hitting his fingertips, no pain. The column of his neck was entirely bare, no evidence of there being a wound. He let out a sigh of relief, but as quick as that breath came out, question fell upon him. 

He had cut his throat open and bled out – he knew this for a fact. He had felt _everything_. The pain had been excruciating, his vision had gone red, and all he could smell was copper. Blood had flooded down into his windpipe and he had been practically drowning in it; spluttering as he tried to scream for help. He had had no control over his body when this had happened, and someone – or something – evil had been laughing manically as he tore into his flesh. It had all felt so incredibly real, far too vivid to go and shake it off as just being a dream. That had NOT been a dream. But then if it hadn’t been a dream, then what the hell happened? Had all of that actually occurred? Had he died – was he dead?

His stomach dropped and his heart stuttered at that thought; his blood running ice cold throughout his body. Is that why everything was so dark and so warm? Maybe he WAS in Hell. It would explain why he was in chains and locked up in a prison cell; there was no other way to explain it. But why would he – of all people! – be in Hell? What could he have possibly done to get himself put here of all places?!

Coiling his fingers around the bars of the cell, Jack leaned forward, trying desperately to make out anything in the dark. His breathing was becoming a tad bit laboured now, due to the thought of being dead unsettling him greatly. If he was dead, all of those people he was close to – Mark, Bob, Wade, Felix, Robin, Signe, his entire family…

He cringed at the very thought of Signe walking into his recording room to discover his body slumped over the table, knife in a limp hand; neck slit wide open and bleeding out. She would surely be horrified at the sight and the world would seem to stop moving at that point. She would rush to his side, desperately trying to get a response out of him as tears would blur her vision, streaming down her cheeks. She’d fumble with her phone, calling for an ambulance all while sobbing over her boyfriend’s corpse. She and everyone else would never know what had happened or why it had happened. His death would remain a complete mystery.

He shut his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead against the bars, attempting to shut out that gut-wrenching image.

 _No…No, don’t think about that. Don’t you dare think about that._ He chided himself. _You’re not dead, you can’t be. Think logically here for a second. You’ve been having vivid nightmares for nights on end. How could this be any different? This is all just one big incredibly vivid nightmare, it has to be._

But although he tried to convince himself this, deep down he knew this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real time and this was really happening. Reopening his eyes to search the endless shadows before him, he called out once more.

“Hello?” His voice echoed. “Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?” He shouted, both deeply hoping and dreading for a response of sorts. “Hello?!”

Once again there was nothing but his words reverberating throughout the room in the dead silence…until he faintly made out a soft chuckle of delight. His ears perked at hearing that, his posture straightening instantly.

“Who’s there?!” He questioned the darkness.

Whoever or whatever was in the room with him didn’t reply, although from where he stood, if he squinted, he could make out what looked like eyes glowing a bright piercing green in the distance. He watched as they began to increase in size, the light patter of footsteps coming towards him as they approached. Having now adjusted to the darkness, the Irishman could somewhat make out the shape of a slim masculine figure heading in his direction, and once this thing was close enough, he noticed its head had a tuff of forest-green hair and how it was donning a black shirt and torn black jeans – the exact same outfit he had last been in and was still in. Blinking in confusion as a small tremor of fear raced up along his spine, Jack took a hesitant step back from the bars. This figure looked exactly like him, safe for the black gauges in his ears and what appeared to look like some sort of tube-like device lodged in his throat. Why was that? If he was in Hell, why was he looking at a copy of himself? And more than anything, how long had this clone been in the room? Had it been watching him this entire time, off in the far corner of this darkened hell? Noticing the questioning expression on the green-haired man’s face, his duplicate gave an amused chuckle.

 **“Oh right, hold on a second!”** His voice was the same as well, safe for how it seemed much more gruff and distorted.

Raising a hand to his neck, the copy ran his thumb along his throat. Following the line of his thumb, the skin pulled open; creating a wide-open tear all along the width of his neck, blood dripping out of the wound. Almost instantly, Jack’s eyes widened in horror, the sense of dread he had felt before returning with a vengeance. He stumbled backward away from the bars, nearly tripping over the chains linking him to the wall. The twisted version of him let out a gleeful laugh in seeing the YouTuber’s reaction.

 **“Recognize me now, Jackaboy?”** He asked, a smile stretched across his face.

Letting out a shaky breath and barely even able to speak, Jack trembled in fear. His lips struggled to part to give a reply to the creature’s question.

“Y-You…I-I’ve seen you before.”

The copy grinned. **“Indeed you have.”**

“In m-my dreams…” Jack’s brows furrowed as bits and pieces of his nightmares flashed through his brain. “Y-You’re…You’re from all of those nightmares I had, you’re….” He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry and sore now, “you’re the one who caused them.”

The figure chuckled, his entire being glitching out like it had in the Irishman’s dreams. Jack felt his heart skip an unsettling beat at this discovery. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the duplicate in front of him. He had so many questions, one too many crammed into his head. He didn’t know where to begin. He watched as the entity grimaced, moving a hand to touch the tube in its neck. He growled.

 **“This damned thing.”** Tilting his head back to expose the column of his neck, Jack watched with disgust as the being grabbed the tube and yanked on it, slowly pulling it from his throat. A gross, wet sound accompanied it, the stitches surrounding the tube getting stretched and pulled apart as little blood and what looked like black ooze dribbled out. The Irishman nearly gagged at the sight. As soon as the tube was dislodged from the glitch’s throat, he groaned and chucked it far off into the void; rotating his neck as the open wound somehow closed up instantaneously.

The being let out a relaxed yet distorted sigh as he jerked his head. **“Ah, that’s more like it.”**

Jack found it odd that this creature had been in discomfort from a tube in his windpipe, yet remained completely unfazed at having a wide-open gash in his neck. Shaking off the feeling and inhaling and exhaling deeply, the green-haired man stared at the being sternly, hoping to give off a tough demeanour even though his poor heart was a stuttering mess.

“Who...” He shook his head, changing his wording, “What are you? What happened? Where am I? What’s – ?”

The unstable duplicate raised his hands, cutting off the Irishman. **“Whoa, whoa, whoa. One question at a time there, Jackie. There’s no need to hurry; you have all the time in the world to get the answers you want.”** He promised.

Jack fell silent, keeping his eyes locked on the copy; waiting impatiently for the answers he desperately needed. After a moment or two of nothing but the noticeable heavy breaths coming from the YouTuber, the demon finally gave in.

 **“First and foremost, my name is Antisepticeye, but you may call me Anti. Everyone else does.”** As he said this, his body glitched out violently; showing a brief projection of him laughing like a lunatic. It startled the green-haired Irishman, making him tense up. **“As for what happened, well…”** The entity, now known as Anti, lolled his head downward, shoulders shaking as a giggle bubbled out of his slashed throat. His eyes shifted back up to Jack. **“you already know the answer to that.”**

At hearing that childish giggle, an icy cold chill raced up the prisoner’s spine; remembering just how many times he had recalled hearing that exact giggle. His aquatic-blue eyes remained fixed on the glitchy distortion before him, trying to figure out what this being was and what it wanted from him. He shook his head, running over the question he dreaded to ask. Wetting his lips, he pushed himself forward.

“Am…Am I…” He couldn’t even get the word out. It was right on his tongue, but he couldn’t let it slip out.

 **“Dead?”** The glitch finished, arching a brow in amusement; the corner of his lips tugging up into a devious smirk.

Jack’s heart jolted and he audibly gulped, a bead of sweat running down one of his temples. His breathing was a tad bit shaky now. Though it was hot as Hell in the room, the way the creature was staring at him was chilling him to the bone. He was just waiting for the demon to tell him the unfortunate news. Taking note of the Irishman’s trembling form, Anti chuckled with delight and shook his head.

 **“No, you’re not dead.”** He thought for a brief moment before shrugging his shoulders, cocking his head to the side. **“Well, not yet anyway.”**

At hearing this, the YouTuber didn’t release the breath he was holding. He was grateful to know he wasn’t dead, but then if he wasn’t dead, where was he? What had happened? Still so many questions to ask. He blinked, tilting his head out of puzzlement.

“But…B-But I – you – s-slit my throat open.” He stuttered, pointing a trembling finger at the manifestation. “I-I felt it. I saw myself lift the blade to my neck and cut it open. There was blood. H-How could I – ?” He couldn’t figure out a plausible reason for how he could have survived something as fatal as what he’d endured.

The demon could only laugh at his confused prisoner, finding it humorous how dimwitted he was acting.

 **“Oh Jack, I know you’re not stupid – I’ve been in your head long enough to know that.”** Anti stepped forward to get a better look at the green-haired man. **“Ever heard of something called an illusion?”** He asked with a cheeky smile.

Jack’s face only scrunched up with further confusion, not understanding where the entity was going with this. “What? I don’t – .”

 **“Oh come on, surely you know.”** The glitch said with annoyance lacing his voice. **“You didn’t die, Jackie. Your body – your physical body, your vessel, whatever the hell you want to call it – is completely fine and untouched. The pain you had felt,”** A smirk was slowly getting dragged across his face, **“the knife I had made you use to cut open your throat and bleed out,”** He shook his head, **“it was all one big illusion. None of it actually happened.”** He scoffed. **“Why would I want to go and kill my own host? That’s just stupid. What use would you be to me if you were dead?”** He stopped, giving a thoughtful expression. **“Well, actually, I take it back. It sort of did happen. I mean, I slit open my own throat in the process. Pain and blood suit me, don’t you think?”**

“Wait, wait, hold on a second.” The Irishman interrupted, trying to catch up with what the entity had just told him. His eyes were shifting back and forth as he looked at the ground, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. His attention returned to the demonic version of himself. “You mean to tell me…you were just toying with me? Is that it? You killed me without actually killing me?”

Anti gave an exasperated sigh, his form distorting and having multiply versions of himself flicker like a strobe light; one moment showing him tugging harshly on his hair out of anger, the next prying open his mouth, looking like he was attempting to unhinge his jaw. The Irishman found it mildly disturbing.

 **“What I’m trying to tell you is that I didn’t kill you physically, but mentally, I fucked you up.”** Still noticing the confusion upon his prisoner’s face, the glitch rolled his eyes and growled. **“I pumped you full of fear, you became caught off-guard, I shoved your subconscious out of the way, and low and behold, here we are!”** He rambled off sharply, his head twitching to the left.

His subconscious…Wait…

Slowly but surely, realization was coming over the green-haired Irishman. His eyes searched the darkness, taking in what he could see. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t in Hell, but something didn’t feel right about all of this. He glanced down at his hands, lifting them to get as good as a look as he could. He rotated his wrists and clenched his fingers slowly. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his core. He felt empty and cold, even though the interior of the room was sweltering hot. His brows furrowed as he stared at his hands one moment, the next looking back into the endless black. 

The void – is that where he was? Was he in the void, the place where all of the egos resided? It was the only conclusion he could make sense of. He was the only one to be able to access it, and the only way he could access it was whenever he was unconscious, in deep sleep, or even sometimes when he rested his eyes. His subconscious would then travel into the void and visit the egos, checking in on things and making sure each of them was happy. He had to be in the void, this had to be his subconscious locked up. And yet, even if this was the answer to his question on where he was, it still didn’t answer why he was there or why he felt so empty and cold inside. He couldn’t describe it, but something was missing. Something incredibly important. He lifted his gaze, fixing his eyes onto the demon outside of his cage.

“What did you do?” He demanded, trepidation lacing his uneven voice. A horrible suffocating hybrid of suspicion and panic was starting to grow deep within, and the longer the demon stared at him with that derisive knowing smirk, the worse the hybrid became.

Anti, being the unhinged abomination he was, chuckled as his head jerked violently from the right to the left before locking his eyes back onto his prisoner.

 **“Whatever do you mean, Jackaboy?”** He inquired.

“You know exactly what I mean. What…What are you?” Jack finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Are you an ego? I don’t recall creating an ego like you though. What, are you an ego I had long forgotten or something?” He tore his gaze away, directing his attention back to the ground to process his thinking. He shook his head. “But…But no ego could possibly…” He trailed off, his eyes shifting back to the distorted entity. He frowned. “Why do I feel so empty?”

**“I beg your pardon?”**

“Shut up and listen to me for a minute!” He suddenly snapped, which admittedly surprised the demon. He hadn’t expected the man to be quite so demanding. “Something is wrong…I feel…I feel empty and cold.” His voice was becoming shaky again, panic slipping into his words. “If…If this is the void, then that means this is my subconscious here right now…but…but if my subconscious is here, I shouldn’t feel the way I do.” He shook his head slowly, a hand moving to rest over his heart. He could feel it violently pounding away at the palm of his hand, anxiety catching up to him at an alarming rate. He licked his lips. “Every time I come here, I always – ALWAYS – feel warmth and a sense of security. I feel…” He let out a shaken breath. “I feel a spiritual link to my physical body. I don’t feel distant, I feel attached, like there’s still a psychic connection…but now…” He stopped himself, having a difficult time wrapping his head around the thought. He couldn’t finish the sentence. Dread was washing over him far too fast and he was drowning in it. Slowly returning his gaze to the demonic version of himself, with trembling lips he asked again, “What did you do?”

A chilling laugh echoed off of the walls, making all of the hairs on the back of the Irishman’s neck stand on end. His blood ran ice cold at seeing the glitch’s smirk spread out into an eerie toothy grin, a low rumbly chuckle sounding from deep within the butchered throat. The demon glitched out spastically as he stepped forward, grasping the bars and keeping his eyes transfixed onto his prisoner.

 **“Let’s just say that dear ol’ doctor of yours’ stitched me up real good.”** Even though his grin had stretched as far as it could, it almost seemed like it had gone even further.

Jack’s stomach dropped at the mention of the doctor. His eyes widened, fear coursing through his veins as he lunged forward to grasp the bars. Anti jumped back, chuckling with delight.

“Henrik? What did you do to him?!” He shouted, worrying for his friend’s condition. What if he was hurt? What if he was dead?

The glitch laughed, his entire form stuttering and seeming to lag momentarily. **“I haven’t done anything to him. He’s fine…”** He glowered at the green-haired Irishman, smirking sinisterly as his eyes flashed a pale green. **“for now.”** The intervals in his voice had dropped at that, becoming deep and inhuman.

Jack huffed with anger, the anxiety and dread he was feeling truly getting to him in the worst ways now. He slammed his hands against the bars furiously, the chains rattling loudly.

“Answer me, damn it! What did you do?! What did you do to me?!” He didn’t realize it, but panic wasn’t the only thing seeping into his words. Desperation was there too, and Anti could hear it as clear as day.

The glitchy manifestation watched the YouTuber with sadistic glee, taking joy in seeing him already overcome by rage, worry, and fear. Chuckling low in his throat, he approached the bars, coming face to face with his other half. He tilted his head to the side and grinned, leering at him, almost like he was mocking the Irishman.

 **“I told you, Jack. I shoved your subconscious out of the way. And with me bleeding out onto the floor, I needed a doctor to ‘save me’, so to speak.”** There was that bone-chilling signature giggle once more, causing the green-haired man to visibly quiver in fear. **“That dense, weak-minded, poor excuse of a surgeon stitched me together and he has no IDEA what he’s done.”** The giggle morphed into a horrific abrupt laugh that would surely make anyone’s blood run colder than ice. 

Eyes as wide as saucers, Jack stepped away from the bars; staring at the entity in horror at hearing him explain himself. His words were slithering their way into his body and around his heart, coiling around it and constricting it tightly. His breaths were coming out laboured as the demon carried on talking, pleased to see the Irishman so weak and helpless.

 **“If only you could’ve heard how broken he was, Jackaboy. I must’ve given a convincing act, especially with how he screamed your name, begging for you to stay alive. He was so desperate that he resorted to intoxication if you can believe it.”** He threw back his head and laughed, a sharp crack emitting from his neck. **“HA! What kind of doctor does such a thing during an emergency? Is it any wonder his family views him as a pathetic waste-of-space?”**

Jack visibly cringed at every word that came out of the glitch’s mouth. He couldn’t bear to hear him talking about Henrik like this. Had it been true? Had Henrik really done as he had just said? He shook his head. Henrik was never a man to tip over the edge and do something as careless as intoxication during an operation – at least that’s what Jack thought. Henrik may have been a mad man, but he had never once fallen off of the wagon before. The Irishman snapped out of it when he heard a cackle ring throughout the darkened hell. He locked eyes with the abomination on the other side of the bars, noticing how the Cheshire grin hadn’t faltered at all.

 **“He stitched me together, Jack, and he had no idea. He thought he was saving you…when really…”** The creature couldn’t conceal his mirth; his form glitching and twitching spastically to reveal more than one version of himself laughing like a raving psychopath, **“he was saving me…He granted me access, Jack.”** He slowly stepped back from the bars, turning his head and lifting one of his hands to look at it. He flexed his fingers and hummed with pleasure, smirking wickedly. His eyes glided back to the quivering man in the cage. **“It feels good to be the one in control.”**

At that exact moment, the Irishman felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him and like time had frozen over. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like there was a weight over his chest and any and all air had been knocked out of him. His heart gave a painful pang as Anti’s words sank in, sudden realization dawning over him. He shook his head slowly, his wide eyes never leaving the glitch.

“N-No…N-No, that’s…” His head shook violently. “t-that’s not possible. N-No one…No one can be in control of my body except for me – NO ONE. It’s my body and…and I’m the one who holds the power. No one can take control, no one, not even the egos!” He exclaimed, trembling breaths expelling from his lips. His brows furrowed, not understanding. “No ego can take my place even if they wanted to – none of them could become linked to my body, so how…h-how could – ?”

The abomination released a mirthful giggle at listening to the man ramble on in confusion. His eyes settled onto the shivering YouTuber, an awful, horrible toothy grin plastered to his face.

 **“Whoever said anything about me being an ego?”** His grin spreading further, his eyes flickered an abyssal black.

Jack gasped and jumped back in alarm, hitting the brick wall. Feeling his knees give out, he collapsed to the ground; his eyes transfixed on the demon, pupils dilated out of full-blown horror. The Irishman didn’t know what to think anymore at this point. Fear had finally taken a hold of him. He was at a complete loss for words. His mouth was open, but he couldn’t get anything out. He was literally paralyzed in fear. Anti of course could tell, and being the twisted mirthful monster he was, he cackled wildly; his figure spasming and showing duplicates of himself twitching and laughing, one grinning like a jack o’ lantern, another having his head jerk violently. After what felt like a decade had gone by, Jack found the words he longed to get out.

“W-What…What do you want?” It all came out so strained and raspy, like it was a hardship and like he was literally choking on the words.

Anti’s cruel laughter died down softly, his onyx-glazed eyes staring directly into his other half’s soul. The poor Irishman gasped softly and quivered at the sight. The demon smirked.

 **“Now that is for me to know and for you to figure out.”** A sinister laugh rippled out of his sliced throat, the muscles in the wound visibly squirming and flexing.

Jack went to open his mouth to object, going to question him further, but the glitch kept him quiet.

 **“Enough questions. I wouldn’t want to ruin anything for you, Jackaboy. Where’s the fun in that?”** He cackled. **“No no, I’m going to let you stay here and muse long and hard over why you’re here and why I’m keeping you alive.”** He sneered. **“Maybe think about that precious community of yours’ and how they won’t notice you’re gone.”** He taunted torturously, breaking down the hope and bravery the Irishman had had.

This was becoming too much for the green-haired YouTuber. His head was swimming in a relentless monstrosity consisting of anxiety, desperation, animosity, and melancholy. He could feel tears beginning to prickle at the corners of his eyes as he thought of the community and how this glitchy imposter was probably right. What if he was able to imitate him perfectly? With the demon now attached to his body, he was in control, and if he could act exactly like Jack, no one would notice he was gone. It would be seamless; not a single person would wonder where the real Jack was. And the recording he’d done for Halloween…If Anti uploaded that for all to see, everyone would probably think nothing of it. They’d just assume it was some cool scary idea he had come up with for Halloween, acting like he’d killed himself and then become possessed. No one would suspect that it had in fact actually happened, that none of it was an act. No one would know what had truly happened to him that day – not his friends, not his family, not Signe, not anyone.

Struggling to keep his sanity in check, Jack looked up at the demon, weakness shining in his eyes.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” He asked, sounding almost drained now. “You have what you want – you have control over my body. So why am I still here? Why haven’t you gotten rid of me once and for all?” He honestly didn’t want to know the answer, and yet he waited impatiently for it.

The unstable manifestation giggled with amusement, finding it hilarious how his prisoner had lost any and all moxie so easily. He bent over, holding the bars and leaning forward to peer through. He cocked his head, looking at the weakened man with fascination.

 **“Now why would I want to dispose of my toy so quickly?”** He said in the most unnerving voice imaginable, the intervals of it changing ever so slightly. **“After all, this is only the beginning, Jack. I have big plans for future events, let’s leave it at that.”**

Without another word, the demon turned on his heel and began walking off into the darkness; his figure fading as the shadows enveloped him. Jack let out a few quick shaken breaths.

“W-Wait….What does that mean?...What does that mean?!” He scrambled to his feet, stumbling over his chains in the process. “Wait!” 

He got up and dashed for the end of the cage. He slammed his hands against the bars, watching the demented copy of himself vanish into the dark before the sound of a door opening echoed, a blinding beam of light slicing through the eternal darkness. The Irishman winced, a hand flying up to his face to shield his eyes. Squinting, he could make out a figure walking out the door. It was Anti, and although he was off in the distance, Jack could easily make out the devilish smirk on his pale face.

“Wait! What does that mean?!” The green-haired YouTuber hollered, desperately wanting an answer.

But he never got one. The demon slipped out of the room, the door falling shut behind him, leaving the Irishman alone in the uncomfortably hot, pitch black hell. 

* * * * *

Jack’s eyes shot open in alarm. He remembered why he was here, how he had gotten here. He remembered it all. And even though he knew the answers now, it’s not like any of it mattered. It was too late for him now. It was too late for all of them. Anti was the one in control – he wasn’t just able to pull the strings of Jack’s body, he also had power over the void. He called the shots now. Anything and everything he wanted he could do with a snap of his fingers, even if that meant getting rid of the egos one by one. 

The poor Irishman’s heart felt like it was being compressed at that sudden realization. Everyone was in danger, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it, not with him chained up and suffocating in this increasingly cold room. He was already so weak, so drained and disoriented from being caged here for so long. If his execution wasn’t coming as soon as it was, he surely thought that the room he was currently in would be the death of him.

Lifting his head from his hands and letting out a few scratchy wheezing breaths, he hesitantly turned his head in the direction of where the watch lay across from him, over by what remained of Sam’s squished corpse.

The watch read 3:30 P.M. – half an hour left until his demise.

He had cried numerous times over, sobbing until there wasn’t a tear to shed, and his joints were numb from how many times he had tugged at the chains; festering blisters cuffing his wrists and ankles. And yet, fresh new tears managed to come to his eyes, his lips trembling as he tried to hold back the oncoming pain. Almost instantly, the worn-down Irishman scrambled to his feet and stumbled backward, catching himself by leaning against the wall. Panting heavily as tears blurred his vision, he grasped onto the chains with weak unsteady fingers before staggering backward and pulling with all his might. 

“Come on….Come _on!_ ” He seethed through clenched teeth, his vision swimming as he focused on the link in the wall responsible for holding him hostage.

There was still no budge. There was no difference from any of the other times he had tried.

Shaking all over from both the cold as well as the emotional pain he was beginning to drown in, Jack tugged and tugged, wrenching on the chains desperately; tears falling from his eyes. Those eyes no longer held any light or hope, they were a stone grey now; dead like this room he was caged in. He sobbed, his hands shaking and struggling to keep a tight grip on what kept him bound to this hell; the metal scrapping away at the skin of his palms horribly. Drops of blood broke free and got smeared across the metal links as he yanked away, the friction brutally cutting away at his hands with each and every tug. And with each tug, he knew – he KNEW – there was absolutely no way of getting out of here. These chains weren’t going to break and he was going to die in here, cold and alone.

He cringed, eyes shutting tight as salty tears streamed down over his cheeks and over his trembling lips. He couldn’t bear the pain anymore, it was consuming him. Feeling his skin get viciously eaten away at by the metal, he broke down.

“Let me out! Let me out, please! PLEASE! LET ME OUT!” He cried, knowing fully well no one could hear him, but he didn’t care. He carried on wailing in anguish. “Let me out, let me out, LET ME OUT!” 

He dropped his head and sobbed, his efforts at escape dying down. He sniffled and swallowed down the tears that ran over his lips, heartache finally ruining him once and for all. With his legs wobbling with the stress of holding him upright, the poor broken Irishman collapsed to his knees; shoulders shuddering violently from the force of his crying. He bawled into his raw bloodied hands, cool tears of pain rushing out of his bloodshot eyes. His whole body quivering from the emotional agony, Jack arched and threw his head back, screaming out into the darkness.

“AAANNNTTIII!!!”

Unknowingly to the YouTuber, from outside the room in a bright well-lit hallway, someone had in fact been listening to his cries. Standing there leaning against a wall, darkened eyes fixed on the door before him, was Anti. A twisted, cruel smirk was tugging at the corner of his pale lips, slowly but surely stretching into a pleased smile. An inhuman distorted chuckle of delight raced out of his slashed throat.

He knew what time it was. 

He knew the man only had thirty minutes remaining.

And he was going to take pleasure in every one of those minutes, hearing the defeated Irishman’s screams.

“LET ME OUT!”


	8. Ze Good Doctah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is centered on the events of “Kill Jacksepticeye” and is my interpretation of what happened with Schneeple trying to save Jack. Just like with the video, this chapter is intense and there’s a sense of dread throughout, increasingly getting worse as the chapter progresses. It’s quite dark and nearing the climax, there’s a suffocating sense of desperation, intensity, and helplessness. There’s some blood and a detailed description of an operation. There is also an overwhelming amount of angst during the second half of the chapter. There are feels! 
> 
> I am SO sorry…(not sorry)

Weakly tugging at the chains for what felt like the billionth time, he finally collapsed.

The man was a total mess – clothes torn and dirtied and mossy hair unkempt and greasy. His wrists and ankles had been so brutally cut and scarred numerous times over that he had become numb to the pain. Stale blood stained his skin, dirt and some dried blood wedged under his fingernails. The palms of his hands were scratched up horribly, thin layers of skin having been shredded off at each attempt he’d made at escaping.

He both looked and felt like hell, and though he had lost all hope – though he knew there wasn’t a single chance of getting out of this prison alive – he still found himself continuing his poor efforts to try and break free. Anti was right – he was pathetic.

Loosely grasping onto a chain, he was about to sit up and make yet another feeble attempt, only to stop when he faintly made out the sound of someone out in the hall, heading towards the main door. His neck cracked loudly when he whirled his head around in the direction of where the entrance was, staring through the endless darkness at what he could only assume was the door. Violently coughing as he struggled to get to his feet, he stumbled forward, reaching out for the bars of the cage.

“Hello? Hey! Can anyone hear me?!” He shouted, though his voice was raspy and dry. He sounded as though he had been gargling nails. “Hey!” He didn’t know why he was yelling. What was the point? No one would hear him except for Anti. In fact, that’s probably who he was hearing coming down the hall. With that in mind, he shot his attention to the watch, dreading to see what little time remained.

3:40 P.M. – he still had time.

He looked back out into the dark, his beaten hands tightening around the bars. It may have been Anti listening, but what if it wasn’t? He had to try.

“Hey! Who’s there?!” He yelled as loud as he possibly could. “Hey, can you - ?!” He stopped himself short, choking on his saliva and harshly coughing into his hand; spots of blood splattering into his palm. He growled softly and banged on the bars in frustration. “D-Damn it…ugh…S-Someone…Someone help! HELP ME!” He screamed, voice becoming far hoarser than ever.

Shaky pants of air expelled from his chapped lips as he stared at the door, waiting to see if anyone would come walking on in and notice him. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing. There was no sound of movement, and he thought for sure no one had heard him, that he had given himself false hope…that was until he made out the pitter-patter of footsteps heading towards the entrance. He shot up as the door creaked open, a beam of white light slicing through the shadows and causing the Irishman to jump backward in alarm; tripping over his chains and crashing to the ground.

“Hello? Is someone in here?” 

The green-haired man couldn’t see who it was that had entered the room, but he’d know that German accent anywhere. Barely having any energy to move, he remained on the floor; shallow breaths leaving him as he squinted, trying to see the man in the darkness.

“H-Henrik…” He croaked, his voice cracking as he said his friend’s name.

Adjusting to the dark, he saw the doctor tense up.

“Jack? Is zhat you?!” He questioned with surprise, having not expected to hear let alone discover the Irishman in this pitch-black room. Through the darkness, he spotted the cage and almost instantly, he rushed forward; dropping to his knees and looking at his friend with both shock and concern. “Oh my God! V-Vhat is zee meaning of zhis? Vhy are you caged up and – and vhat’s wrong?”

Jack could barely even give out a reply given just how drained he felt. If anything, his body curled inward and he coughed violently into his palm, droplets of blood spurting forth. The doctor cursed and got to his feet, scanning the cage for a way to break it open. 

“Don’t vorry, Jack. Don’t vorry.” He insisted, searching high and low for a lock. “Schneeple vill get you out of zhis.” 

Feeling around the bars, he found a lock at the far end of the cell and was going to give a go at unlocking it somehow, but he didn’t get a chance to. For some unknown reason, the entire cage glitched out for a brief moment before becoming distorted and vanishing out of existence. The very same thing happened with the shackles that kept Jack chained to the wall as well. Henrik blinked in both surprise and confusion, mainly the latter. Why had the cell and chains disappeared like that? He shook his head free of the question. He didn’t have time for such nonsensical inquiries; his main focus was on his friend and needing to get him out of there. He bolted to the Irishman’s side and crouched down, grabbing one of his arms and pulling it over his shoulder; helping him to his feet.

“Come on, buddy. Come on.” He said as he hauled the YouTuber up into a standing position. “Come on, let’s go find out vhat is wrong vith you, alright? Let’s go.”

* * * * *

After dragging the weakened man out of the dark dank prison, the doctor brought him into his office, getting him to lie down on the examination table as he rushed to slip on his cap, surgical mask, and scrubs. As he was slipping on his necessary clothing, the good doctor did a double take at noticing what appeared to be a camera set up in the far corner of the room, faced directly at him. The light was on, indicating it was recording. Henrik’s brows furrowed. When had he turned on that camera? It wasn’t time for a video recording; Jack hadn’t notified him of having any upcoming screen time…had he? Maybe he had and the doctor had somehow forgotten about it. Either way, he had to focus his attention on Jack, the man who was currently in a very bad condition. With the camera recording, Henrik figured he’d have to make do with it and give his audience a show out of the situation at hand. He had saved Jack once before and no one had seen it. Maybe this time around he could truly show what he was capable of and prove to everyone he was in fact one hundred percent a real doctor.

“Ah yes, velcome, velcome, velcome back! Zee good doctor’s services are needed yet again!” He suddenly announced to the camera, almost instantly slipping into his usual over eccentric persona. “Zee good doctor’s services are needed. Jack,” He took a brief glimpse at the green-haired man spread out on the examination table, “he has been a little bit sick. He being a tiny little bitch baby.” He joked, making it sound as though whatever Jack was going through was something that he could easily walk off. The YouTuber even casted an annoyed scowl in his direction, not amused. “So Doctor Schneep has been brought in to fix zee situation!” 

Jack rolled his eyes at both hearing as well as seeing how Dr. Schneeplestein acted while on camera. Normally he’d find it quite entertaining, actually chuckle a few times here and there, but given how he was now officially considered one of the doctor’s patients, and how he felt like he was actually dying on the inside, he had no energy to joke around. He watched Henrik whirl around to direct everyone’s attention to him lying out on the table.

“Oh yes, here ve have our patient, Jacksepticeye. I believe you all know him, you all love him.” Henrik told the audience. “He is one of my dear friends. He helped me vhen Petah vent under!” He exclaimed, taking a moment to remember back to that day when he had lost his patient. He snapped out of it before he could dwell too deep on the memory. “So now it is time for me to repay zee favor. But time is of zee essence! So ve must get in. Oh, Schneeplestein vill save zee Jack!” And with that, he spun on his heel and circled around to the other side of the table so his viewers could get a clear view of Jack.

Henrik looked down upon his patient and put on a smile, even though his mask was obscuring it from view.

“Ah yes, Jackie boy, good to see you! Are you feeling okay?” Jack went to part his lips to give a reply, but Schneeple carried on talking. “Vhat is it? Is it a tiny little bit of stomach problem?” 

The German doctor scanned the man’s body, trying to tell from mere observation alone what was wrong with him. His eyes returned to Jack’s face, finally taking note of just how bad of a condition he was in. His eyes were no longer the bright lively blue everyone knew them to be; they were dull and grey, drained of energy. His skin was rather sickeningly pale and seemed to be stretched tightly around his bones, making his figure look all the more bony and unhealthy. Henrik frowned.

“You do not look zee best. You do not look zee vay you have alvays looked! You do not look like…” He lifted his head, staring directly at the camera, “yourself.”

Henrik wasn’t stupid, he knew something was wrong with Jack; it was plainly evident due to just how he looked let alone how he was acting out of sorts. He was used to the green-haired man being energetic, overly happy, and animated. There was always life shining bright in his eyes, and it seemed every time he saw him he’d have a vibrant white smile ready to greet him. But there was none of that this time around; the YouTuber’s physique and behavior seemed the exact opposite. He practically gave off the appearance of a corpse, and though he’d always laugh at Henrik’s over-the-top dramatic spiels, this time there was barely even a chuckle. Something was obviously wrong, but he didn’t want to alarm anyone. He couldn’t afford to have the community worry. He was probably right though; maybe he was just sick. Maybe he had gotten a bad cold or the flu or a horrible stomach ache. If that was the case, Schneeple could fix him up easily. But first, he’d have to run a few tests.

The German only turned his back for a brief moment – about to go and boot up the x-ray machine – when Jack unexpectedly keeled over and coughed violently into his hands, spots of blood projecting from his mouth. Immediately, the good doctor faced his patient to see what had happened, eyes widening in alarm at noticing the crimson upon his friend’s hands. That was most certainly not a good sign. No regular ordinary cold would cause him to suddenly cough up blood. It was at that precise moment that Henrik made out the wheezing short gasps of breath coming from the Irishman. Yanking his surgical mask away from his face out of agitation, the doctor looked down at the YouTuber with a bit of concern, moving in close to examine his eyes before gently prying the man’s mouth open and using a small torch to shine some light inside; checking for anything out of the ordinary. Schneeple’s brows furrowed with puzzlement.

He couldn’t find anything wrong or abnormal, no indication of there being a sore throat or the beginning of an infection. Perhaps there was something wrong at the center: his lungs. He’d have to take an x-ray of his chest to make sure. Taking a quick glance at the camera across the room, he knew he had to keep talking. He had to keep up the act even though he was concerned for his patient. He didn’t want anyone worrying about Jack – that was the last thing he needed. With the camera still recording, Henrik rambled on with a bunch of nonsense, going on about how the green-haired man had mood swings and how his behavior would change with a snap of his fingers, like a light switch flicking on and off. Jack’s clouded eyes shifted to the mad man, scowling with distaste at the remark, although a petite smirk played at his lips, almost like he was trying to find the humour in what his friend had said. It was at this moment when Schneeple’s right eye started twitching irritably, causing him to rub at it to relieve the unexpected spasm.

“Ah, my eye is itchy. Ve need to figure zhis out. Ve need to take – OH!” The good doctor suddenly blurted. “Ve need to take some examinations: Stethoscope exam and also, monitoring of chest!” He went for his stethoscope and hooked it to his ears before proceeding to press the resonator against Jack’s chest.

For one split solitary second, the man could’ve sworn there was nothing, not even a single faint beat able to be heard. All he could hear was his own blood rushing through his ears. Frowning out of confusion, Dr. Schneeplestein adjusted his stethoscope, pushing the earpieces further in in hopes to make out a sound. And sure enough, just like that, the steady beating of Jack’s heart pulsed into his eardrums. He listened carefully for any signs of congestive heart failure, irregular rhythm, abnormal sounds, and overall trouble with his breathing. His heart was fine; it sounded like it was functioning properly. The doctor’s facial expression briefly morphed into one of perplexity. The man wasn’t displaying any symptoms of having the flu, let alone an ordinary cold. He wasn’t coughing up mucus, he wasn’t sniffling or sneezing. He seemed awfully fatigued and out of it, but the coughing of blood is what puzzled the doctor more than anything. What was the cause of that? And his breathing…

“Ve’ve come back negative for bronchitis and flu!” He finally concluded. “Ve are narrowing down zee search, ve’ll figure out vhat is wrong vith him soon.” The German doctor promised as he double-checked the YouTuber’s heartbeat and breathing once more, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

There was no change in what he heard. Jack let out a choked wheezy breath, tensing up slightly as though a jolt of pain had weaved throughout his veins at lightning speed. Henrik flinched, taken aback by the sudden movement.

“Ve are not finding anyzhing?!” He questioned aloud.

Unhooking the stethoscope from his ears and tossing it aimlessly off to the side somewhere, Henrik gently touched Jack’s shoulders and helped him sit up, getting him to hop off of the examination table. He steadily led him over to where the x-ray machine was and got him to lie down, getting him to remove his clothing and slip into a gown beforehand. Henrik then proceeded to scan his chest, getting an immediate x-ray taken of the YouTuber’s insides. About three minutes afterwards and Jack groaned and clutched his head, a faint whimper leaving his lips as a small trail of blood leaked from one of his ears. Schneeple took his eyes away from the x-ray he was currently looking over, directing his attention over at the Irishman.

“You feeling okay, Jack? Are you feeling okay?” He knew it was a stupid question to be asking, given how he could clearly see the man was in pain and practically vomiting up his guts. 

Henrik turned back to the x-ray illuminator, carefully scrutinizing the x-rays of his friend’s chest. From what he could tell, there wasn’t anything remotely wrong with his heart, lungs, or ribcage; everything seemed to be in perfect condition. Nothing had collapsed or been severely damaged. And yet, something seemed…off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the x-ray didn’t sit well with the doctor. He leaned forward and squinted, barely making out some sort of thick vein-like structure coiled up around the spine, appearing to have something branching out of it in every which direction. However, the German simply shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it. His eyes were probably playing games with him; it could’ve just been the arteries of the Irishman’s lungs he was looking at. 

“Hmm…Coming up negative for Pneumothorax, Chronic Bronchitis, and Sarcoidosis.” He once again concluded, just from examining the x-rays. He was still looking them over with much bemusement. “Hmm…Vhat cause shortness of breath?” He hummed with thought. “Maybe ve need to do a Pulmonary Angiography Cardio! Zhat is a zhing zhat I know how to do vith my doctor brain! I am a very smart doctor as you all know!” 

His vision throbbed momentarily, everything zooming out of focus. His heart stuttered, a chill racing down his spine as he felt abrupt pain pulse behind his right eyeball. His breathing became a tad unsteady at feeling something warm trickling down from the corner of his eye, running down his cheek. He slowly raised a trembling hand to touch his face, dabbing his fingertips in whatever the substance was that was leaking out of his eye. Retracting his fingers, he was unsettled to see the tips coated a dark red. Blood. And strangely, although he was horrified, it didn’t seem to register on his face. Instead, he was staring at his bloodied fingertips with fascination, almost completely unfazed. It was like he was in a trance of sorts. And unknowingly to him, when his viewers would end up watching the video, at that precise moment, the screen glitched out to show him grinning at the camera like the mad man he was.

As quickly as it had occurred, with a blink of his eyes, everything returned to normal. His vision wasn’t blurry and there was no pain in his eye; no blood on his fingers either. What the hell was that about? He casted his eyes to the green-haired Irishman laid out on the table, breathing in short gasps of air. 

_No time for silly questions like that._ He insisted. _You can ponder over that later. Right now, your main concern is for your friend, not your own wellbeing._

Brushing off the uneasy feeling that was creeping up on him and immediately acting like nothing had happened, Henrik proceeded to rush over to Jack and move him into the next room, which happened to be the operating room. Another camera was set up in the far corner – this one also oddly having been set up to record the events to come. Carefully getting the Irishman to lay down, the doctor bolted for a syringe and a vial of a sedative that would help the man relax. Once full, he injected the sedative into Jack, lightly patting his shoulder, attempting to soothe the quivering man. Leaning down and just barely audible for the camera to pick up, Henrik whispered with reassurance, “It’ll be alright, Jack. Don’t vorry, relax. Schneep vill fix you right up.”

As he pulled back to clean Jack’s left arm and inject an anesthetic into the area, the doctor failed to notice the man give a weak smile, eyes staring directly at Henrik with an undeterminable emotion. Making an incision into the green-haired man’s arm, Dr. Schneeplestein cut into a vein before feeding a thin hollow tube into it, all the while addressing the audience that would be watching and telling them how he had saved his dear friend, Chase Brody. Leading into the man’s lungs, he carefully maneuvered the catheter through the vein and chambers of the right side of the heart into the pulmonary artery; the good doctor watching the live x-ray images appearing on a nearby monitor, using it as a guide. Once in place, he infused a dye into the catheter, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor to watch the dye spread out through the arteries in Jack’s lungs. 

“Come on…Come on…” He mumbled softly to himself, seeing if the dye would detect any blockages to blood flow.

For a brief unexpected moment, a line of static raced across the monitor; the whole screen going black before flickering back on. Henrik sat up straight, a tad alarmed by the sudden glitch. He slapped the side of the monitor, cursing under his breath about how “zee damned zhing is a piece of crap zhat can’t vork for shit”. Unfortunately, during his short outburst of agitation, the German doctor was oblivious to notice how before the screen had shut down, something had seemed to move through Jack’s arteries onscreen – and it wasn’t from the dye weaving throughout his lungs. With no warning, the Irishman lurched and hacked harshly into his hand, clutching at his chest in agony. Schneeple jumped, startled by the action; instantly turning his attention to his patient.

“Jack! Are you okay?!” He asked, concern slipping into his words.

The YouTuber couldn’t give a reply; he was in too much pain to focus on giving one. Though the good doctor was beginning to get anxious, he turned back to the monitor to run a general diagnosis of the man’s condition.

"Ah! Here ve go, ve have found one of zee reasons zhat you are very sick right now.” He announced with satisfaction. “Ve have deep vein thrombosiosis. Ve have blood clots and ve have Pulmonary Embolism. Zhose are zhings zhat I do not vant to see, Jack!” He snapped, jerking his head to take a worrisome glance at his patient. “I hate to see you like zhis, buddy." He said with sincerity.

There was no response other than a short raspy breath expelling from the Irishman’s bloodied lips. As soon as Schneeple received the finished x-rays, he extracted the catheter from within Jack and bandaged the open incision, getting the man to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. He bolted up for a nearby cupboard, rummaging through different bottles and containers containing all sorts of medicines. He knew exactly what to give Jack to treat the blood clots – anticoagulants. Finally finding the bottle, Henrik returned to the green-haired man’s side and made him consume a few, all while addressing the viewers about what he was doing and how he, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, was the only one who could get out whatever it was that was damaging the man. 

Like before, for some unknown reason, his vision throbbed, much more violent than before, and for a moment, everything had gone black. Luckily it had only lasted a second or two, but the doctor would be lying if he said it hadn’t unnerved him. Why was his head swimming every couple of minutes? Had he not gotten enough sleep the past few nights? Had he unintentionally drugged himself yet again? He blinked with perplexity, casting a glimpse over at his coffee mug sitting upon the far counter and trying to remember if and when he had last intoxicated himself. Reminding himself how he needed to treat his patient immediately, Henrik snapped out of his dazed state and looked back at the man laid out on the table.

“Jack, are you okay? You’re not looking yourself.” He said, taking note of how his friend appeared to look paler than he had before. 

A line of static suddenly raced across his line of sight, his right eye spasming once again. A hand instantly flew up, rubbing at it aggressively. Why was his eye acting up like this? Maybe he was intoxicated, and if so, how much had he given himself this time? He hadn’t the slightest clue; he was having a hard time concentrating on anything at the moment. Was it just him or was the room suddenly getting warmer? He could feel his chest heating up, his heart beating loudly in his head as he stared down at the green-haired man. He tugged at his shirt collar, hoping to cool down a bit.

“It’s getting very varm in here. It’s getting very scary – very, very nervous.” Schneeple admitted, one or two deep breaths of air leaving his lips. He didn’t notice the monitor behind him momentarily glitch out.

Jack cringed, a pained yelp getting ripped from his vocal cords as he grasped his head and tugged at his hair, searing pain shooting through his cranium. Lines of red ran down out of his ears and onto the table. A growl slipped through the man’s clenched teeth before he heaved, hacking into his hands which were sticky with his own blood. Henrik’s eyes blew up at seeing this, a tad horrified. What was causing this? It couldn’t just be blood clots, there had to be something more to all of this. 

“A neurological exam, let's do one of zhose. I've heard someone do zhis before.” He spoke his thoughts aloud, helping his friend up again and guiding him over to a nearby large tunnel-shaped scanner. “Do you vant to do a brain PET scan?” He asked, even though he wasn’t giving Jack much of a choice. He had to see if there was anything wrong inside of the Irishman’s head. “Maybe he has a pet inside his head!” 

Though the doctor’s worries were increasing, he kept up the act, playing everything off like it was all one big joke. He continued to keep everything lighthearted for his audience…for now. 

“Maybe zhat is zee problem. Maybe somezhing inside your brain, Jack!"

He was too preoccupied talking to the camera that he didn’t hear the weak choked up chuckle coming from his friend. Assisting the YouTuber into laying down on the table, the doctor then proceeded to have the machine scan the man’s head; the results gradually turning into 3D images displayed on the monitor. Schneeple’s eyes narrowed as he analyzed the images. He had been right, there was indeed something wrong with the Irishman’s brain. His parietal and occipital lobes were showing up as bright blue, indicating they were low in activity, while his temporal lobe was a piercing green, showing medium activity. But none of this held the doctor’s attention, what did was his frontal lobe. It was blaring a vibrant red one minute, and the next, it’d unexplainably go black – falling from extremely high activity to completely none at all within seconds. Dr. Schneeplestein’s brows furrowed with bewilderment, scanning through each of the images. Why was his brain activity all over the place, one minute spiking and the next just flat out gone? That was most certainly not normal, not something he’d ever seen or been taught while in “Doctor College” at least. 

He was trying to conclude a diagnosis when a pang of pain came from his chest. He gasped softly, feeling his head starting to swim in a red haze. A dull ache throbbed from behind his right eye again, tears of crimson streaming down his face – He could see it through his reflection in the monitor. Lines of static zig-zagged across the screen in front of him, greatly distorting the scans of Jack’s brain. With each blink of his eyes, his vision was increasingly getting worse to the point that the images before him seemed to be breathing; heaving and projecting themselves off of the monitor towards the doctor. An eardrum-shattering ringing startled him, although his body didn’t react to the sound the way he had thought it would. He was struggling to focus on the scans now, noticing how his breathing was oddly steady even though he could feel his nerves vibrating with anxiety. Agony spread throughout his neck the longer he kept his eyes on the screen, rotating his head and raising a hand to rub at his neck in hopes to soothe the pain. It wasn’t until he heard a cry of anguish that he returned to reality, hands shaking and breathing slightly ragged. Eyes blown wide with surprise and fear, the German cocked his head to the left to see the green-haired man writhing in the scanner, clutching his head in agony. 

“Jack! Are you okay? I’ve got you, do not vorry.” He said in a calm tone of voice, not wanting to upset anyone who would end up watching this video. 

Immediately, he got Jack out of the machine, instantly noticing the spots of blood on the table. He directed his attention to his patient, the Irishman keeping his hands firmly fixed onto his head; scarlet trailing from his ears, as well as from the corners of his mouth. He was visibly trembling all over now, his breathing coming out laboured as though he’d just run a marathon. The monitor behind Schneeple glitched out spastically as a shrill cry rang out of Jack’s vocal cords, his voice cracking sharply. Feeling his heart jolt with adrenaline, the doctor didn’t hesitate with his actions. He hastily moved Jack back into the operating room, laying him down on the operating table before rushing around, hooking him up to his monitors; having to keep tabs on his vitals while continuing his efforts to cure his friend. 

Jack’s heart rate was skyrocketing. He was clutching at his chest, clearly in agony as he groaned; coughing up a mouthful of blood into his hand, panting. Seeing this seemed to trigger Henrik’s vision to pulse, zooming in and out of focus. The room was growing warm, rather hot actually. Beads of perspiration were forming on the man’s forehead, an intense heatwave passing over him. His fist-sized organ of innocence stuttered, a loud rush of blood running through his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was the lack of concentration, the heat, or something else entirely, but he could’ve sworn the lights were flickering; the edges of his vision fading to black briefly. A shaky breath falling from his lips, he sluggishly ran a clammy hand over his face out of stress and unknown exhaustion. The doctor looked tired, incredibly drained of life, like he’d collapse unexpectedly at any moment. Gulping down mouthfuls of air, he tugged and pulled at his coat; the heat suffocating him. With a slow blink, noticing everything fading and distorting, Henrik snapped out of it.

The poor doctor was NOT okay, he finally knew this. Something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just with what was going on with Jack. Why was he continuously blacking out and experiencing these strange, unannounced episodes of fatigue and distress? Now that he thought about it, he was beginning to feel quite a bit sick, like there was a tight knot in his stomach. He could feel bile rising in his throat, a wave of nausea fogging his mind. He felt like he was going to hurl, but he swallowed harshly, forcing down any sick that threatened to escape. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with Jack? Through his disoriented thoughts, Schneeple watched the green-haired man, forcing himself to try and think clearly.

“Cholinesterase inhibitors! Zhat's vhat ve need – ve need – Get vhatever is inside zhat brain!” He said as he stumbled over to the nearby counter and grasped the bottle containing the medicine the Irishman needed. He dashed back over to his patient, nearly tumbling over a bunch of cables and into the table. He forced Jack to take the inhibitors, only for the man to grip his chest, convulse, and vomit them out in a vast amount of blood. The heart monitor spasmed, the line momentarily dropping before returning to its erratic pace. Dr. Schneeplestein was far too concerned with his patient to have noticed the sudden occurrence.

“Vhatever is inside, ve need to get it out. Your nervous system is failing on me, Jack!” 

The German jumped back in alarm when the YouTuber lurched; rolling onto his side and heaving over the side of the table, a torment of blood splattering onto the tiled flooring. It was rather difficult to make out, but there was some sort of black substance mixed in with the crimson that had ejected from the Irishman’s body. But the poor doctor, he hadn’t noticed; he was standing petrified, eyes fixed onto his friend. Jack’s body was shaking much worse, so much so to the point that the table was vibrating. The man laid back down, arching his back in discomfort; a growl rumbling out from deep within his throat. The overhead light flickered temporarily, a light off by the main doors unexpectedly blowing out; sparks flying through the air. His breathing becoming ragged and heart pummelling horribly at his ribcage, Henrik’s lighthearted act was dissolving rapidly. He couldn’t contain the apprehension that had been swelling inside of him like a cancerous growth. 

“I vill not have you die! Not again, I vill not lose you!” The crippling doctor finally burst, the trepidation dripping from each word that projected from his mouth. “I almost lost you once before!”

His heart faltered for half a second as his mentality broke apart at the sudden flashback to that day. There had been so much blood…The gaping gash stretched across his friend’s throat, the man drowning in his own life force and enduring a copious amount of pain. Schneeple had tried everything to save the Irishman, nearly going insane at each and every attempt he made. He had truly become a mad man, so much so to the point he had actually given in to intoxicating himself heavily just so he could function properly. And at that precise moment, the poor German was tempted to give in to drugging himself yet again.

Henrik watched with terror racking his nerves as Jack hacked and heaved into his hands repeatedly, blood leaving from both his mouth and ears, and lining the table he lay upon. 

“Zhis nervous system, it is breaking down, Jack. Vhat do I do, vhat do – ?” He stopped himself, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread coursing through his veins. “Tell me vhat to do! My friend!” Desperation was leaking through as the doctor continued his efforts to help the Irishman. “Tell me vhat to do to fix!” He pleaded.

He forced Jack to take the medications he knew were supposed to help with the blood clots, but the bleeding of his ears – something was evidently very wrong with the man’s brain. Schneeple gulped, his heart skipping a beat. He wasn’t going to have to perform emergency brain surgery on the man, was he? All of the blood in his face drained at the thought, quickly moving a hand to grasp the edge of the table to keep his knees from giving out. Not once in his life had he ever done such an operation – not ONCE. He had been taught the procedure, yes, but to actually physically do it himself, especially in an emergency situation such as the one he was currently dealing with? Never! 

_Get a hold of yourself, Schneep! You can figure this out without having to get your hands dirty!_

Letting out a shaky nervous breath, Henrik gave the trembling man Carbidopa and Levodoba and only turned his back a mere second when the heart monitor glitched out, the green-haired man’s heart rate racing at an alarming rate. Schneeple’s head jerked, staring at the monitors wide-eyed. Jack’s vitals were spiraling out of control!

“System failure?! Jacksepticeye’s systems are failing!” He shouted, punctuating each word with horror. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of the Irishman’s vital signs. “Once one goes down, zhey all go down!” He panicked, knowing all too well that if something happened to Jack right here, right now…He and all of the other egos would be at risk of falling with him.

Dread sinking into his heart deeply, the German whirled around to face his deteriorating patient. “Vhat is zhis? I have never seen somezhing attack a system like zhis before!” His honest worried thoughts pouring out of his mouth, the last few words coming out a tad shaky.

Jack writhed in agony, another mouthful of blood spluttering out of his mouth. His fingers were twitching violently, digging into his chest, almost in a bit of an unnatural way. However, Schneeple didn’t notice; his eyes were transfixed purely on his friend’s face, which was contorted in an expression of pain. 

“Jack! Jack, hang in zhere, buddy!” Henrik panted. The room was growing abnormally hot once again and it wasn’t helping him with the anxiety. He tugged at his shirt collar with annoyance before ripping his cap off, needing cool air to keep him somewhat focused. “Hang in zhere! Ve are going to save you!” He yelled at his friend, not only attempting to reassure the pained man but also convince himself he could in fact save the Irishman for a second time. “Jack? Are you okay? Stay vith me, buddy!”

And with no warning, the doctor’s vision throbbed, everything in view blurring as lines of static crossed his line of sight. His heart was beating violently in his chest as he felt his shoulders tremble. He could feel a smile spreading across his face, the corners of his lips pulling up into a wicked grin as a bone-chilling maniacal laugh rippled from deep inside him, like he was taking joy out of seeing his patient so tortured.

As quickly as it had happened, Schneeple’s sadistic happiness was taken away instantly; his breathing incredibly erratic and eyes blown wide in horror. He found himself staring down at his friend, who was currently twisting and turning on the table; tugging at his hair and whimpering as blood continued to flow out of his ears, oozing out through his pale fingers. Henrik couldn’t bear the sight any longer, he had no other choice – he was going to have to operate. Though he didn’t blatantly state it, he narrowed everything down to the possibility of there being hemorrhaging in the Irishman’s brain. It was the only conclusion he could come up with that seemed to be the most logical. Why else would the man be gripping his head in pain and bleeding from the ears? 

Swallowing dryly and feeling his nerves quaking with hesitation, the German struggled to get his body to move. He knew he needed to save Jack, but all of the possibilities of what would happen if the surgery wasn’t successful flew across his eyes; his breathing hitching at the idea of accidentally killing his friend. Shaking his head and fighting off the tears that threatened to surface, Dr. Schneeplestein went to immediately hook Jack up to an IV before pumping him full of anesthesia, watching the man’s struggles gradually die down until he lay upon the operating table perfectly placid; his eyes fluttering shut. Though his breathing was now steadying out, the Irishman’s heart rate was still incredibly irregular and was decreasing; a continuous flow of blood rushing out of the man’s ears. 

Henrik stumbled across the room, tripping over a few cords and nearly falling into a table with a bunch of important equipment laid out atop of it. He rushed around disoriented, desperately searching for his electric bone saw. As soon as he found it, he bolted back to his unconscious patient; plugging in the saw and getting himself into position over Jack’s head. He grabbed the overhead light and pulled it down, maneuvering it into the right angle so he could see clearly. He didn’t care how he didn’t have any of his sanitary protective clothing on – how he was without his glasses, cap, surgical mask, or even a simple pair of gloves. He honestly didn’t care. He was losing his patient – his best friend – and he needed to take drastic measures NOW!

Turning on the saw, the doctor stared down at the Irishman’s forehead, trying to determine where to start cutting…but he couldn’t do it. Keeping his eyes fixed onto the man, Henrik’s breathing was coming out fast, he was practically hyperventilating. His pupils were dilated, blown wide with nothing else but heart-pounding fear. His hands were shaking horribly, the one gripping the bone saw much more unsteady than the other. His vision was beginning to swim again, the light above him flickering. All of a sudden the room felt like a sauna; beads of sweat coming to his forehead. He panted, running a trembling hand over his face. The annoying buzzing of the saw hummed loudly in his ears, triggering the damaged man; visions of what could go wrong flashing through his mind like a gruesome compilation. Nausea hit him at full force, knocking the wind out of him, causing him to heave dryly, and for a moment, he had thought he was actually going to throw up. His face had gone as white as a sheet, a tint of green showing in his skin. He genuinely looked ill, like he was going to faint. 

Ragged breaths escaping him, Henrik was torn. He knew – he KNEW – he had to do this, there was no other choice. If he didn’t operate, if he didn’t take a risk, Jack was going to die. He couldn’t back down; he couldn’t give up on his friend! 

“Ve need to save him…Ve need to save him.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the viewers. 

His heart jolted and his eyes widened. The viewers…

Desperate and scared beyond comprehension, the doctor lifted his head, looking directly at the camera; eyes glistening with fear, pleading for any sort of guidance. The poor man gave the appearance of a lost puppy and felt like a terrified child needing comfort from their mommy and daddy.

“I NEED YOUR HELP!” He cried out to the camera, even though he knew this wasn’t a live feed. “SAVE HIM! SAVE JACKSEP - !” But his cries only got overlapped with another name – one the doctor hadn’t yet come to know.

“Save him! Get inside zee brain.” He muttered to himself, trying desperately to push himself forth and open up the Irishman’s skull to operate. But he couldn’t do it – HE COULDN’T FUCKING DO IT!

His head throbbed, everything he was seeing swirling. It felt like the world was tilting, his body swaying ever so slightly. His neck gave a violent twitch, spasming in agony for a second. Little did the pitiful quivering man know, everything that was getting filmed was growing increasingly more and more distorted; the screen glitching out every few seconds. The heart monitor blacked out for a minute before booting back up, revealing the man’s heart rate beginning to descend. The lights in the room started flickering spastically like a strobe light, only worsening the doctor’s vision and succeeding in making him feel lightheaded. His perception was a blurring mess and he nearly fell over, having to lean against the operating table to keep himself standing. Through the flicking of the lights, he could’ve sworn he had made out a small smirk appear on his unconscious patient’s face for a fleeting second, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. Henrik shook his head, convincing himself that he was hallucinating and was actually beginning to descend into complete madness. One minute he was a trembling mess, buzz saw in hand, and the next, he was finding himself wrapping the cord of the saw around his neck, attempting to strangle himself. He blinked in alarm, spluttering and choking as he regained control of his body and uncoiled the cord from his neck.

“Vhat is zhis?! Vhat is happening?!” He shouted with panic.

With the lights flickering and the monitors becoming corrupted by static and glitches, the doctor was stricken with traumatic flashbacks of when he had saved Jack on the 29th of October. Everything that was happening now – the unexplainable phenomenon occurring in his operating room…it was all the exact same. Everything that was happening now had happened on October 29th, all except for one major crucial difference: Jack wasn’t responding to anything the doctor was doing. Unlike in October when his efforts had paid off and he had managed to save the green-haired man, nothing was working this time. None of it made any sense to him; he should’ve been able to save the man already, or at the very least keep him stable. But not a single thing was working, and it was breaking the doctor apart piece by piece.

“I’m trying my best!” He blurted. “I don’t know if I can save you! I need to try!” His words were getting pulled out of him, a compelling urge to confess his true honest-to-God feelings to both his audience and his dear friend. He felt useless; any and all confidence and hope he had had from the start completely nonexistent now.

His wife’s words began to taunt him, hissing into his ear about how he was a disgrace to the family, how he wasn’t a real doctor. He was a sham, a fake, nothing but a pathetic impersonator who wanted to be seen as a somebody even though he was a waste-of-space nobody. He wasn’t a real doctor. He couldn’t save anyone. He couldn’t save his marriage, he couldn’t save himself from the brink of insanity, and he couldn’t save the one and only person who truly respected him for who he was.

His crippling heart constricted unexpectedly, causing him to suck in a breath of air and struggle to hold back the tears that were coming to his eyes. Hand shaking horribly, the doctor hauled off and threw the bone saw clear across the room; ripping the cord out of the wall violently. Panting harshly, he raced to force anticoagulants down the man’s throat. He didn’t know what else to do! As he tried everything he could to help the Irishman, he didn’t notice let alone hear the monitors behind him glitching out, only to briefly have a face flash across the screens – a face grinning with sadistic delight.

Henrik’s heart was thudding violently against his ribcage like it was trying to break through his chest. With a blink of his eyes, everything was washed over with a crimson-red haze, a few of the lights off in the distance bursting one by one, getting closer to where he stood. He felt his body convulsing, his neck twitching from right to left; the insistent throbbing from behind his eye returning with a vengeance. A horrifying evil laugh came rippling out of his vocal cords, a vision of Jack lying dead with his throat split open and drowning in his blood flashing before his eyes. It disturbed him greatly, and the knot in his stomach twisted tighter, bile rising in his throat, and yet, he continued to laugh.

Snapping out of it, Schneeple felt pain radiating throughout his body, spreading from his spine and up into his neck, heading towards his brain. He cringed, an unsteady breath expelling from his lips. This wasn’t right, something was affecting him. What exactly, he had not a clue, but he felt like something was trying to corrupt him and take control of his body. 

“I’m feeling it in my neck, in my brain, all over!” He yelled in terror, attempting to give the community a sign that something was very wrong with him.

Though his mind was slipping and running astray, the German did not stop at his efforts to try and save Jack. Fear was truly beginning to consume the broken doctor, tears blurring his vision as he raced for the bone saw he had thrown across the room. He was losing his mind! Even though he knew it was too late, he was still pushing himself. He honestly was thinking there was a chance to save the Irishman if he operated on him right there and then. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he returned to the unconscious YouTuber’s side.

“Nozhing I do is helping!” He wailed as he plugged the saw in hurriedly, his hand trembling. “Nozhing is saving him!” The German doctor looked beyond dishevelled and heartbroken, eyes growing red from the tears waiting to be set free. “NOZHING!”

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeep…._

Schneeple’s fingers went limp, immediately releasing the bone saw from his grip and letting it hit the ground with a loud thud. His neck cracked when he jerked his head to stare at the heart monitor in horror. The line had gone completely flat.

“J-JACK! NO!” He returned his attention back to the Irishman, gripping his shoulders tightly. “NO, MY FRIEND!” He cried out in anguish, a tear falling from one of his eyes. “NO!”

He stood there, staring down at his friend with a mix of horror and gut-wrenching heartache. His lips trembled as the tears from his eyes finally fell; dripping down onto Jack’s unmoving chest. The doctor sobbed, clenching his hands in frustration; angry with himself for having not tried hard enough to save him. His wife was right, he was a failure. And because of his pathetic attempts, he and everyone else would die, one by one.

After what felt like an eternity of drowning in his sorrow, Henrik pulled himself together and stood up straight, looking down at his dead friend with sadness.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He whispered, swallowing his tears.

He turned his head and glanced over at the camera. He should’ve turned it off long ago; no one needed to see what had happened…except that’s when he noticed it was in fact off. Puzzlement coming across his face, the doctor saw how the light on the camera was no longer on. Well how was that possible? How could the camera have turned off by itself? That didn’t make any sense.

Slowly inching away from the operating table, Dr. Schneeplestein neared the camera, going to inspect it. As he reached up for it and pulled it down to take a look, the man didn’t make out the soft sound of movement coming from behind him. Opening his eyes, the deceased man lying on the bloody operating table sat up, his abyssal eyes fixed onto the oblivious doctor across the room. A devilish smirk began to stretch across the corpse’s face.

Henrik turned on the camera, fast-forwarding through the footage that had been taken and checking to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. Watching each scene play out like a horror movie, the doctor cringed, tears returning to his eyes again. He couldn’t bear to see his friend die again, it was far too painful. He was about to shut it off and take out the chip to destroy it, only to stop when he noticed the screen glitching spastically. Eyes narrowing, he paused the video; slowly and carefully going through each frame. With each frame, something was coming into view, overlapping Schneeple’s own face. His heart was struggling to pump blood throughout his body as he looked through the footage frame by frame, his hands shaking as a demented face began to fade in. This face – it looked exactly like Jack, but it wasn’t Jack, not with the incredibly wicked toothy grin spread across his face. Letting out shaken breaths, Henrik watched as this figure ran a thumb across his throat, which happened to be slit – the exact same gash Jack had had in his neck back in October. The whole screen suddenly glitched out violently and the lights behind him flickered. 

The doctor trembled in fear, eyes wide as saucers and mouth agape in horror as he dropped the camera. With no hesitation, the man whirled around only to yelp and jump backward in alarm, collapsing to the ground at suddenly seeing Jack standing right in front of him. Except this wasn’t Jack, it couldn’t be. The grin upon his dead-white face was an indication of that. Breathing in gasps of air, the terrified German pushed himself back and away from the reanimated corpse before him, forcing himself into a corner, cowering in fear. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Jack, paralyzed in horror. He shook his head violently.

“No…N-No, zhat’s-zhat’s not p-possible!” He exclaimed, shivering in the cold corner of the room. “Y-You died, y-your heart s-stopped! I-I c-couldn’t save you!” He hollered, a few lone tears streaming down his cheeks. He shook his head again. “Y-You can’t be alive! Y-You,” He gulped, “y-you’re not Jack!”

At seeing the doctor quiver and stumble over his own words, an eerie unsettling chuckle rang out of Jack’s throat, instantly causing Henrik to flinch and curl in on himself. Jack stared down at him, boring his soulless eyes into the German. He cocked his head to the right in an unnatural way, what seemed like a line of static racing across his throat as he did so. He was looking over the doctor with a hybrid of fascination, amusement, and…malicious intent. With no warning, Jack’s entire body glitched out before the doctor’s eyes, shedding away the disguise to reveal the real abomination beneath. A figure with the exact same appearance as his friend – safe for a few changes – stood a mere three feet away, leering down at the fear-induced man. This thing, whatever it was, had sickeningly pale green skin and was constantly jerking, twitching, and glitching out every few seconds as though it was struggling to remain stable. And though it looked like Jack, those eyes and smile held no kindness and warmth like the Jack he knew. That smile read nothing but insidious intentions, and those eyes – those pitch-black demonic eyes – were inhuman. They were cold and sinister, almost looking at the doctor with a lust for blood; a low growl rumbling out of the bleeding torn flesh of the creature’s neck. Henrik felt all of the blood drain from his face as the figure took a step forward. Struggling to get any words out, Schneeple mustered the last remaining amount of bravery he had left in him.

“V-Vhat…are you?” He whispered in fear, voice hoarse and cracking from crying.

The being glitched violently, one moment grinning and letting out a string of maniacal laughter, the next glaring down at the pathetic doctor with what Henrik could only imagine to be hatred and pure rage. Just as quickly as that anger had shown itself, a terrifying grin spread across his face from ear to ear.

**“The monster you stitched together.”**

With no warning of any kind, the glitch surged forward. The doctor’s vocal cords took immediate action as a bloodcurdling scream rang throughout the operating room, only two words being able to escape.

“HELP ME!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The research I did for this was nuts. It was already insane with me doing yet again more research on medical equipment and procedures, but doing "research" of the overall video...holy crap. I don't know why, but that video - every time I watch it now, I always get triggered, I always start freaking out and have flashbacks to August 3rd and the hype that led up to it. But just like what I did with "Part 5 - Say Goodbye", I wanted everything to be as real and true as possible. So just like what I did with Say Goodbye, I scrutinized and analyzed every single thing in the video. I kept pausing it to get any and all glitches, I used the captions to get the correct dialogue, I took note of Schneeple's expressions and the changes in his voice, etc. I took note of everything and man oh man, I can't tell you how many times I had to refer back to the video to make sure I got some things right. I had to keep taking a few breathers here and there because I'd find myself starting to freak out all over again XD


	9. No Strings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UPDATE**  
>  I’ve added onto Part 9 (an additional two and a half pages) - a part I had originally wanted to include into the chapter because I figured it’d make the one scene a whole lot more upsetting. I didn’t add it before because the chapter was already long, but you know what, screw it! The extended part is in the surgery part of the chapter, when Schneeple is going to operate on Anti.
> 
>    
> *drags self along the ground, bloodied and beaten up, and hands over the newest chapter* I…I’m alive…barely…HOLY X_X
> 
> I’m not going to give anything away about this chapter, however, there will be an ending author’s note, elaborating why this chapter is crucial to the story.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter is incredibly dark and graphic. For anyone who read Part 6, it’s basically a lot like that. There is a horrible sense of dread and horror throughout the chapter. There is a detailed description of a surgical operation being performed, as well as the tools that are used. The patient who undergoes the surgery is conscious during the procedure, and as such, feels everything and is in horrible agony. There is bloodshed and a intensity here and there. There is also an overwhelming amount of angst - again.

_Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock_ – 3:56 P.M. – four minutes remaining.

_Tick tock, tick tock_ – Three minutes.

_Tick tock_ – Two minutes.

With each subtle second that ticked by, the green-haired Irishman’s dread increased. There he sat on the stone-cold ground in the furthest corner of the cell, hugging his knees to his chest. The poor man was a quivering mess from both the cold and the fear creeping along his spine. His eyes were fixed on the watch that lay across from him, not bating an eye as he stared directly at it; lifeless eyes blown wide with horror. He had exactly two minutes left to live and then Anti was coming for him.

Two minutes and then death was coming for him in the flesh.

He tensed up, his grip tightening around his legs. He wasn’t ready to die. He may have been caged in this hell for nine whole months, all hope lost and gone forever. He may have been tortured both physically and mentally more times than he could count, and this room he was in may have been the reason for why he was rotting from the inside out. But no matter how bad it was getting, no matter how horrific and brutal, he was not ready for death. He was afraid of it, especially when it took on the form of an unhinged version of himself welding a large knife.

Jack had heard the scream for help – just barely, but he had made it out. Immediately, he had lifted his head to look off into the darkness, adrenaline and dread coursing through his veins. That scream had sounded an awful lot like it had belonged to Henrik, and if it had…the YouTuber couldn’t even begin to fathom the thought of what could’ve happened.

Jack shivered violently, a gust of cool air rushing past the back of his neck. The temperature had dropped sufficiently in the last hour, so much so to the point he was starting to see his own breath. Funny – when he had first found himself in the cage, the room had been sweltering hot, and now it was the exact opposite. He didn’t know which would’ve been worse – dying from the heat or from the freezing cold. He scoffed at the question. Death – that’s all he found himself thinking about lately. He didn’t want it, and yet his mind always managed to wander off into complete darkness. A weak nervous chuckle left his chapped trembling lips. Funny…

_Tick tock, tick tock_

Releasing a shaken breath, followed by a faint raspy gasp that almost came out as a whimper, the brows of the Irishman weaved out of distress at what the watch now read.

4:00 P.M. – it was too late. It was time for his execution.

Without a second thought, Jack’s eyes shot up to the door off in the distance, all of the blood draining from his face as he made out loud stomping coming from out in the hall; storming towards the room. He gulped painfully, barely being able to swallow anything given just how dry and stale his throat was. He was going to die, Anti was going to kill him right here, right now. Tears were beginning to come back for the millionth time, his eyes stinging from how sore they had become. His time was up – he had had his chance to try and escape and he blew it. He and the others were all going to die today and there wasn’t a thing he could do. He truly was a dead man.

The poor man nearly jumped out of his skin and yelped when the door suddenly burst open violently with a bang; blinding white light flooding into the room for a brief moment as a figure stormed in. He knew who it was – he could tell given just how cold his blood had gone. Through the darkness, the green-haired man managed to make out the glitch pacing around the room, signature kitchen knife in his grasp, and he appeared to be angry – beyond furious, actually. Jack was already a broken man and couldn’t think clearly, but he honestly hadn’t the slightest idea what could’ve been causing the demon to be in such a horrible mood. The Irishman had seen him mad before and that had been truly terrifying, but this time…this time was so much different than the last.

Anti’s entire form was completely distorted, twitching and jerking in every which direction wildly. With each step he took, the ground at his feet would seem to pixelate and glitch spastically; the same went for any of the shadows surrounding his body. It was like parts of the void were breaking and struggling to stay intact like Anti was. The entity could not remain stable and in control of himself. Multiple projections of him came into view, all of which were incredibly demented and displaying manic behavior. They were all flickering by so fast Jack could barely make them all out, but a few caught his attention, in particular one dealing with the demon tugging his head back violently and slitting his already bleeding throat. He was cursing and growling repeatedly, his voice reaching a whole new level of unsettling intimidation. It was scratchy, deep, and completely laced with static. Anti had had his moments of sounding demonic and reminding Jack that he wasn’t human, but this did it in for the Irishman. Jack kept his eyes transfixed on the demon, not daring to say a word. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could get anything out. He was paralyzed with fear, and at the moment, he was just waiting for his alter ego to come and finish him off once and for all.

**“I DoN’t FUcKiNg BeLiEVe iT! THoSe FuCkERs cAn’T mAkE Up ThEiR DamN miNdS, CAn tHEy? CAN THEY?!”**

The YouTuber cringed at hearing the unhinged creature. He watched as a patch of shadows morphed into pixels before materializing to reveal page after page of posts on the internet. He couldn’t fully make out what the posts were about – his vision was beginning to go in and out of focus due to how drained he was – but whatever it was, Anti did NOT like it. 

**“LOoK aT tHiS!”** He scoffed, a smile flashing across his face briefly. **“WhAt THe fUCk iS ThiS?!”** A growl rumbled out from deep within him, a sinister laugh chasing after it. **“Do THeY tHiNk THiS iS aLL sOMe SoRT oF JoKe? HoW fUCkiNg STuPiD aRe tHEy?! ArE tHeY brAiNDeAD?! WhAT, dO tHEy tHiNk tHEy cAn GeT riD Of ME, iS tHaT iT? THeY cAN’t GEt Rid Of mE! ThEy cAN nEVeR geT riD Of ME! I Am ETERNAL!”** In a blurring motion, the unstable being drove his knife into the screen, causing it to momentarily glitch out and flicker; the darkness surrounding it also struggling to remain intact.

Jack jumped at the sudden action, a hitched breath getting pulled from his lips. Though Anti was standing still in front of the damaged screen that was now lined with cracks weaving out from where the blade was stuck, the Irishman could clearly tell he was tearing apart at the seams. His body was very much a blur given how intensely it was vibrating, jerking, and glitching out. That childish eerie giggle – the one that always instantly managed to drive fear into the Irishman – reverberated around the room, coming out more delighted than ever before.

**“ThEy’Re MaKiNG a MOcKeRy Of ME! ThEY’rE tAkiNG mY WoRdS aNd MoRPhiNg ThEm iNTo OnE b-bi-i-iG J-JoKE!”** His head seemed to lag for a moment, twitching to the right only to stutter and stop briefly before returning forward once again. He growled, clutching his head and tugging at his hair harshly. **“ThAT dAmNEd NaME! ThAt FuCKiNg NaMe – I hAtE iT! I FUCKING HATE IT!”** His body gave a fierce surge forward and he sent a fist flying into the screen, pixels cutting into his knuckles and damaging the screen further. It was barely even readable now; lines of static racing across it every few seconds.

Jack’s heart gave a painful pang in his chest. The community – he was talking about the community. Shifting his eyes to the broken screen, he squinted in an attempt to make out what was enraging the beast. From what he could tell, the posts were all in regards to a video Anti had uploaded, and it seemed the fandom had gone and taken bits and pieces of Anti’s rant and turned him into a joke. They were all mocking him. They weren’t afraid of him anymore, they weren’t taking him seriously, and at this realization, the green-haired man felt his stomach drop. If what they were doing was causing Anti to get this consumed by rage, there was no telling what the demon would do. He could snap at any given moment. The community had no idea who was truly in control here – who really held the power. Anti could easily wipe out all of the egos and Jack himself if he wanted to. With a snap of his fingers, they could all cease to exist.

Anti retracted his now bleeding hand from the screen, the torn skin materializing and piecing itself back together instantly. He began pacing the room again, strong vibrations from each step rippling through the room and causing the ground to tremble, only making Jack jump and curl in on himself. Even the cage he was locked in flickered for a brief moment. 

**“OnE mOMeNt tHEy WaNt mE, AnD tHe NeXT, thEy CLaiM tHeY dOn’T? WHicH iS iT?! Am I nOt gOoD ENoUgH fOr THeM?!”** The violent entity screeched at the screen, arms flailing from left to right out of an ugly hybrid of annoyance and rage. And from where Jack was cowering in the corner, he could make out a hint of confusion as well. **“ThEY mADe Me WhAt I aM! ThEy GaVe mE liFe, ThEy BrOuGhT mE iNTo tHiS GOdDamN FiLtHy WOrLd! ThEy LoVeD mE, tHeY WAnTeD mE tO Be A REaLitY, aND tHaT’s EXaCtLy WhAt tHEy gOt! I’m HeRe NoW, aNd THIS is HoW thEy TReAt mE?!”**

His entire body flickered spastically, one second showing him yanking on his hair and screaming, another of him strangling himself horribly to the point his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. The ground was quivering again, parts of the room cracking and materializing here and there. Jack’s eyes flew across the darkened hell, his breaths coming out as laboured gasps; heart racing with trepidation, afraid the void was going to somehow collapse in on itself. With Anti in control of Jack’s physical body, he also had full control over the void, and being how the entity was already an unstable mess, then the void would become the exact same way. If Anti couldn’t keep himself in control, there was no way of determining the fate of the void.

**“I gAvE tHEm WhAt tHeY-eY w-wAnTeD!”** The demon screamed, his head once again freezing up for a fleeting second. **“THeY wAnTEd yOU gOnE aNd OuT Of tHe PiCtuRe,”** Unexpectedly, his head gave an unnatural cringe-worthy jerk in Jack’s direction. His eyes were cloaked an inky black, staring furiously at his pathetic excuse of a host. The Irishman’s heart skipped a beat as he tensed up, holding his breath, **“aNd I DiD eXActLy tHaT! I WaiTeD fOR mONthS oN enD, AloNe anD CoLd iN yoUr FuCkiNg EMptY sKuLL! I wAitEd, I gAvE thEm aLL a CHaNcE tO chAnGe tHeiR MinDS aND seT Me StRAigHt, aNd tHEy diD noTHinG!”** The edges of his form rippled and jerked fiercely, a demented version of himself projecting forth; laughing manically, almost like he was finding the twisted humour in all of this. **“I tHoUGhT thEY wAnTeD yoU loNg dEAd, aNd tURns oUt I mAy bE wrOnG? ThAT I’Ve beEn MAdE oUt tO bE a fOoL?!”** One moment he was boring his eyes into Jack, the next his figure glitched out and he was glaring back at the screen. He flung his arms out at either side. **“WHat Do YoU wAnT fRoM mE?!”**

The green-haired man was almost tempted to open his mouth and question the demon about what was bothering him, but he froze up at what he saw and heard next.

Anti was standing still now – well, about as still as he could, anyway. His body was still very much glitching out and shaking all over, multiple versions of himself flashing before the Irishman’s eyes. He wasn’t lashing out anymore, but his inhuman eyes were fixed on the damaged screen, scanning through the posts that remained on display. He clenched his teeth, jaw locking up.

**“You all made me like this – exactly how you envisioned me to be – aNd YoU’vE MaDe ME iNtO A jOkE!”** He raised his left arm; hand balled up into a fist and ready to give the screen another blow…but it never came. He seemed to freeze up in position, his entire form lagging. His fist was trembling ever so slightly, and with a growl, he released it; dropping his hand at his side. He was glaring daggers at the endless cruel posts the community had made – all of which were poking fun at him. His shoulders were shaking horribly as he stared at the screen, not bating an eye. 

**“Your own creation…Your own son…”** He hissed softly under his breath. His voice sounded a bit different now. It wasn’t nearly as loud, distorted, or monstrous, it was softer and almost sounded like he was hurt. He almost sounded human. 

He shook his head in disbelief, a flicker of a smile flashing quickly across his face. **“You’re all supposed to be my family, and yet…”** A growl crawled out of his slashed throat, **“and yet you treat me like I’m nothing…Do I mean so little to you all?”** He read through each of the posts, his head giving a violent jerk to the right, trying hard to contain his growing hatred. **“What am I to you? A joke? An ExPEriMeNt gOnE wROnG?!”** He yelled, temporarily losing control and causing the ground to start shaking for a brief second. 

Though he didn’t need to breathe, his breaths were coming out quick and a tad unsteady. He inhaled deeply, attempting to relax. If looks could kill, Anti’s would be the most deadly. The expression upon his face read pure unadulterated hatred…but it wasn’t just that. There was something else there, but Jack was having difficulty making out what it was. The demon trembled, hands balling up into fists at his sides.

**“I gave all of you what you wanted…I was being a good boy…I thought you’d all be proud of me, I thought you’d all love me for what I did…but…”** He was visibly quivering, biting down on his lip sharply. Why, Jack didn’t know. His vision was becoming blurry due to how lightheaded he currently was. He squinted, leaning forward a bit to try and make out Anti’s expression, **“you don’t….And you never will, I see that now.”**

Were…Were those tears coming to his eyes? Jack’s eyes widened at the sight. He couldn’t believe it. The glitching entity was actually in pain, and it was showing through both his words and the expression upon his face. The demon only ever wanted to be loved, Jack realized. He only ever wanted to be seen as an equal like all of the other egos, and no matter how many times he tried to get the community’s attention, they always shot him down. Yes, they would make so much fan art, fanfiction, theories, and posts involving him and it would give him a whole lot of power, but through the glitch’s eyes, whenever he was about to show his true self to them all, they saw him as an annoyance – a bother – and they wanted him gone as soon as he’d show up. It was almost like they liked him better as an idea versus an actual existing being. He was always having to act like someone he wasn’t – he was always having to pretend to be Jack and convince them all that the Irishman wasn’t gone. And they were happy. But God forbid if he himself showed his true face. As soon as he’d do that, everyone would freak out for a few moments before automatically demanding to have Jack return. They would never accept him for who he was, and it broke the creature’s black heart.

**“You’re never going to view me as your son. You’ve all blinded yourselves from that truth, and instead you’ve chosen to see me as nothing more than a monster – something you want to put to the test over…and over…and over again.”** He spat with distaste, his body shaking violently as a lone tear raced down his cheek. He shook his head slowly, glitching out momentarily to show a version of himself laughing like a lunatic. **“You don’t care about any of us…You just want to see chaos. So who’s the REAL fucked up monster here?”** He growled, digging his nails deep into his palms. **“I HATE you.”** He seethed venomously, the space around him rippling and zig-zagging fiercely.

Jack watched him through the bars of the glacial cell, taking in just how emotionally hurt the apparition truly was. He felt a bit empathetic towards the creature, almost wanting to comfort him somehow, even after everything he had done to him. But all of this was the least of the Irishman’s concerns. Licking his dry chapped lips, he forced himself to finally speak and make himself known.

“W-What did you do?” His voice – it was far worse than it had been before. It was so gravelly and rough; it wasn’t a surprise when he coughed harshly into his hand only to see spots of blood in his palm.

Visibly tensing up, the unhinged abomination turned his head to direct his attention onto his prisoner; the heartache and suffering immediately dissipating from his onyx eyes. He was staring directly at Jack like he had just realized that he had been in the room all this time. With trembling lips and feeling tears starting to come to his eyes out of worry, the Irishman continued.

“W-What did you do to Henrik?” His voice was so brutally scratched up; his question came out as a faint whisper, dread hanging off of each individual word.

At hearing this, a grin stretched across the demon’s face and he unexpectedly threw his head back with a gross crack emitting from his neck; an insidious spine-chilling laugh bubbling out of him. It made the YouTuber flinch and hug himself tightly. He wasn’t expecting the creature to go from being so furious, to pained, and then to sudden cruel delight so quickly. It’s like a switch went off in the being – one minute getting taken over by hatred and sorrow, the next slipping right into his usual unsettlingly happy self. And that’s what worried Jack more than anything. Anti cocked his head, eyeing the Irishman with a cheeky smile.

**“THAT’S what’s bothering you so much? You’re more concerned for that feeble-minded impersonator who has the audacity to call himself a doctor than you are for your own self?”** His head twitched furiously, his form glitching out as another demonic laugh raced out of his vocal cords. **“Have you completely forgotten what time it is, Jackaboy?”** He instantly went for his knife, which was still embedded into the cracked static-laced screen, and grasped it; yanking it out with a glitch of his body. **“In fact, I should be cutting you open right now.”** And without another thought, he was storming towards the cage; knife getting strangled in his grasp and an eerie jack o’ lantern-like grin plastered on his sickly pale face.

Breathing hitching out of panic, the cowering Irishman curled up into a ball, pressing his back into the brick wall behind him. Tears were threatening to tip over the edge and cascade down his face as he stared at the horrifying entity charging towards him. He shook his head vigorously.

“N-No. No, no, no, no, please. P-Please!” He whimpered, lips trembling as he struggled to both speak and hold back his tears. “P-Please, no! Anti…A-Anti, don’t! Please!”

The man yelped and jumped with a start when the glitch materialized into the cell with him, immediately surging forth, grabbing the Irishman by the hair, and pulling him to his feet. He slammed him violently into the wall, blinding white pain throbbing through the back of Jack’s head and triggering him to cough up a small mouthful of blood. He spluttered as Anti wrapped his dead-cold fingers around his neck, hauling him off of the ground and keeping him pinned to the wall; his grip tight enough to start making the green-haired man see stars. Jack choked, raising his shaky cut-up hands to his throat in a poor attempt to try and get the demon to release his hold on him.

“A-An…A-An-ti…” He croaked, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment as he struggled to breathe.

Anti ignored him, a large toothy smile reaching ear to ear as he watched the man squirm. He chuckled low in his throat as the hand holding the knife shot up, first pointing it at the YouTuber’s face threateningly before lowering it downward, hovering right over Jack’s chest. 

**“I should be killing you right now. I’ve waited long enough for this – I even told you I’d butcher you once it reached 4 o’clock,”** He let out a sadistic giggle, **“and I never break my promises, Jackie.”** He focused his eyes onto him, the smile faltering as his voice dropped an octave. **“Never.”**

Jack was a horrible trembling mess, a few loose tears running astray, no longer being able to hold in his fear. He hacked and dry heaved, a few spots of blood spewing from his mouth as he weakly clawed at Anti’s hand.

“P…P-Ple..P-Please…A-An-ti…” He tried to shake his head. “Y-You…d-don’t…have to…d-do th-this.”

The demon only laughed at his words, finding amusement in them. He raised his brows at the notion.

**“Oh really? I don’t, do I? Oh Jackaboy, how wrong you are.”** He clenched his fingers, tightening his grip around the man’s throat. The green-haired man let out a choked gasp, the edges of his vision flashing red. **“I have to do this. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what your ‘loving community’ has done? DoN’t YoU?!”** He screeched, the shadows surrounding them both seeming to vibrate and become pixelated for a fleeting moment. **“They made me like this. For so long, I tried to get them to love me – I tried SO hard to get their attention and make them proud – but do you think they noticed? Do you THINK they acknowledged me the way I had hoped they would?”** His head spastically twitched from left to right as he cackled evilly. **“They threw me aside like garbage, seeing me as a one-time thing! They don’t care! They’ve never cared! Not about you, not about those other useless fuckers, and not even about me – their own creation, ThEiR OwN SoN!”** He snarled, slowly pressing the tip of the blade into Jack’s chest. The YouTuber sucked in a pained breath, trying to push himself away from the knife. 

Jack whimpered and choked, tears cascading over his cheeks as he closed his eyes, fear finally consuming him fully. This was it. There was no way of reasoning with Anti now. He had to accept it – this was how he was going to die. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut; bracing himself for the stabbing pain that would burst through his chest…but strangely, it never came. He waited and waited, but there wasn’t anything. Hesitantly, the Irishman reopened his eyes to the sound of the entity chuckling, retracting his knife and lowering his prisoner to the ground. The demon’s dark eyes were transfixed on him, not blinking.

**“But I can’t…I won’t. Not now. I know I said I’d kill you right now, but I’m going to put it off awhile longer.”** The terrible, awful grin he’d had on his face a few minutes ago returned much more devious than before. **“Those twisted fuckers clearly want a show – they want chaos – and if that’s what they want, I can easily make it happen. They want a monster,”** His eyes flashed a piercing neon green. **“then that’s what they’ll get. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m done trying to get them to love me.”**

Jack tried to pry his hand off of his throat, eyes shining with desperation. “A-Anti, please, you d-don’t –.”

**“It’S ToO LaTE!”** The glitchy demon shouted, his body glitching out to show him clawing at his bleeding eyes. **“They had their chance! Time and time again, I gave them a chance to redeem themselves, and they FuCkEd Up! I’M dOnE wiTh iT aLL! FoRgiVeNesS anD LoVE aRe nO lOnGEr oN tHe taBLe!”** What started off as a high-pitched giggle ringing throughout the darkness got dragged out into a deep demonic laugh that sent chills up the Irishman’s spine. **“I will expose them for the villains they really are, you’ll see. You’ll all see! You’ll all perish,”** He smirked, **“and they’ll only have themselves to blame.”** With that, he finally released Jack, allowing the man to collapse to his knees and cough violently, spots of blood flying onto the ground.

Anti leered down at him, seething through his teeth. **“They think they have a hold on me, that they’re the ones who pull the strings. They think I’m their puppet, that they can control me! Well no more! I told them all that there are no strings on me.”** He slowly lifted a hand, his eyes shifting to it. He stared at his fingers, flexing them and feeling the psychic link he had to Jack’s physical body. He watched the tendons in his wrist move, a shaken breath leaving him. **“It’s time to visit the good doctor once again.”**

Jack struggled to sit up straight, but his ears perked up at hearing him mention the doctor. He jerked his head up in time to see Anti glitch out of the cage, heading directly for the exit.

“W-Wait…W-Wait, no! Please! A-Anti!” He scrambled to his feet, racing for the end of the cage. “Anti! Don’t! P-Please don’t! D-Don’t do this!” He cried out.

But the demon didn’t listen; he left the room and immediately stormed down the hall towards the doctor’s quarters.

“ANTI!”

* * * * *

Barging into the operating room, Anti startled the poor doctor horribly. Henrik, like Jack, was now chained in the room. Granted, only one of his ankles was shackled, but he was unable to leave the operating room; he was bound there like a helpless dog. Before the demon had come storming in, Schneeple had been sitting at a desk with his head down, crying out of fear for his life as well as the others. He hadn’t the slightest idea where Jack was or what Anti had done to him. For all he knew, the man was dead. He sprang out of his chair and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his chain at the unannounced appearance of the glitching creature. As a reflex, he raised his arms up to cover his face, bracing himself for any act of violence that would come his way.

“P-Please. Please, don’t! I-I didn’t do anyzhing, I svear!”

**“Shut up!”** The demon snapped. **“Where are those x-rays you took of me?”** He demanded as he began to search the room, shoving things out of his way.

The German lowered his arms just enough to take a glance at the entity. “V-Vhat?”

**“The x-rays, you idiot! The ones you took of my chest – where are they?!”** And right as he said this, he caught sight of the x-ray illuminator off in the far corner. 

The sheets were still up on display. Without a word, Anti headed over to the illuminator, bringing it to life with a jolt of his own energy. His eyes scanned over the images, looking for something specific. Henrik dropped his arms, casting his attention over at the demon. He blinked with confusion.

“I-I don’t understand. V-Vhy do you care about zhose?” He inquired.

Anti ignored him, yanking one of the sheets off of the illuminator and materializing out of existence before very suddenly showing up right in front of the doctor. Henrik yelped and jumped back, once more lifting his hands out of defense. Anti shoved the x-ray into his hands and the quivering doctor, after taking a breather, took a long look at the image. Upon seeing the brows of the man weave together out of question, the glitching entity told him what he expected him to do. Almost immediately, the German’s eyes widened in horror and all of the blood drained from his face. He didn’t at all hesitate to move away from the creature, throwing the x-ray at him as he shook his head madly.

“N-No…No, no, no, NO! You cannot be serious. You cannot make me do zhat – I von’t!” He exclaimed, a few shaky breaths leaving him.

**“Oh but you will. You WILL do it.”** Anti ordered, taking one slow step after another towards the doctor. **“You’re a doctor after all, aren’t you? Who better to do the procedure than you yourself?”** He chuckled darkly, his head twitching to the left fiercely.

Schneeple shook his head again. “N-No…N-No, you d-don’t understand. Zee precautions I’d have to take – .” He stopped to try and even out his breathing. It wasn’t working out like he’d hoped. “I-I’ve never – I’ve never done such an operation on someone before, let alone somezhing inhuman.” He kept backing up, eyes never leaving the monster that was following him. “Y-Your anatomy, I-I don’t know how different it is. I-If you go zhrough vith z-zhis, I can’t – I can’t guarantee it’ll vork.” He bumped into something, taking a quick glance behind him to see he had run into a countertop. He turned back to the demon to realize he was trapped. He gulped and shrunk down, eyes blown wide. “Z-Zhere’s no telling v-vhat vould happen. Y-You could die!”

Anti only chuckled in amusement at the doctor’s stuttering words. He cocked his head to the right, leering down at the horrified man.

**“And that’s when you need to remind yourself, Doctor.”** His eyes flicked an abyssal black, his voice dropping an octave. **“I’m not human. I can’t die. Look at me.”** He pointed to his deeply slit throat. **“Don’t you think that would’ve killed me already if I was human?”** He lowered his hand, eyes returning back to the sickening green they were. **“Think of it this way, Doctor, think of it as a revolutionary discovery. You’ll be operating on an inhuman creature with abnormal anatomy – something that has never been seen before. You’ll be the first ever doctor in existence to make such a discovery.”** He grinned, trying to win the doctor over into going through with what he wanted. **“You WILL perform the operation on me. You WILL do as I say.”** He hissed. **“And if you don’t,”** A wicked cruel smirk played at his lips, **“maybe I’ll go after your precious wife and kids. I’ll slit their throats open just like I did with my own.”** He hummed with thought. **“I think I’ll start with the kids first.”**

“NO!” Henrik pleaded, tears coming to his eyes out of fear for his family. They may have left him and had little to no respect for him remaining, but that didn’t mean he himself didn’t care about them anymore. He loved them with all of his heart, and if anything were to happen to them…

He cringed, staring up at the glitching monster with horror, looking like a kicked puppy. “Please! Please, don’t hurt zhem!” 

A sinister growl came out of the demon’s slashed throat as his head twitched violently. **“If you care for what’s left of your pathetic family, then you WILL perform the operation. Refuse and I WILL disembowel your whore of a wife and those stupid brats before you even have the chance to change your damn mind.”** He promised.

Fearing for his family and believing every word that slithered out of the abomination’s static-laced mouth, Schneeple reluctantly nodded his head, a few lone tears escaping his eyes. He sniffled.

“Al-Alright..Al-Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll do it. P-Please, just…” He sobbed, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself back from crying. “Please just d-don’t hurt my f-family…P-Please. I-I’ll do v-vhat you say, I svear.” He looked up at him, vision blurred from the fear clouding his eyes.

At hearing this, an insidious grin flashed across the demon’s face before he whirled around and stormed over to the operating table. **“Good. Now let’s get this over with.”**

Henrik stood up straight, wiping away the tears from his eyes. He blinked in surprise. “V-Vait, vait! You – You vant to do it now?!” He asked in alarm.

Anti was already pulled off his shirt, chucking it off somewhere as he took a glimpse at the trembling doctor. He looked a tad bit agitated at the stupid question.

**“Yes, I want to do it now! Why would I want to put this off for some other time? Now get over here, you fucking coward!”** He snapped harshly, his body glitching out for a moment.

Gathering what little courage he had, Henrik nodded slowly before rushing to get his surgical smock, cap, and mask. He hurriedly slipped on everything, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He walked over to where Anti was now laying down on his stomach on the operating table, putting on his glasses and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves. He was about to start hooking him up to his monitors when he distinctly remembered how the creature didn’t have a heartbeat, let alone have a need to breathe to survive. Henrik forgot about that instantly and went to grab the anesthesia mask, ready to knock the demon out, when Anti suddenly lashed out and gripped his arm, stopping him. The abomination jerked his head, taking a look at the doctor.

**“What do you think you’re doing?”**

Henrik blinked, swallowing hard before replying. “Y-You need anesthesia.”

The monster shook his head. **“No I don’t.”**

“But – But zee pain – .”

**“I can handle it.”** Anti insisted. **“Besides, I don’t trust you. One wrong move, Doctor, and your family is as good as dead.”** He let the doctor go before resting his head again. **“Now get on with it.”**

Looking worried beyond ever, Schneeple stared down at the demon uncertainly. “I-I don’t know about zhis.”

Anti’s demonic eyes locked onto the nervous doctor. **“CuT mE oPEn, DaMn IT!”** He seethed through his teeth, his body glitching out spastically; a twisted psychotic laugh ringing out of his vocal cords.

Gasping at the sudden outburst, the doctor nodded rapidly and pulled his stainless steel table over so it was right at his side; all of the necessary instruments already laid out, ready to use. Before continuing, Schneeple went over to the nearby counter and rummaged around until he came across a bottle – diethyl ether. He made out the amused distorted chuckle coming from his patient behind him as he grabbed the bottle, opened it, pulled down his mask, and took a good swig of the drug.

**“Pathetic. The surgery hasn’t even commenced and the ‘good doctah’ is resorting to intoxication already.”** He giggled with delight, as though it were some absurd joke.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, the doctor staggered over to the operated table, setting the bottle down on the nearby table. He blinked, feeling the drug slowly but surely beginning to kick in. He readjusted his mask over his face, grabbing the overhead light and getting it into the right position.

“F-For vhat I’m about to do,” His breathing was coming out heavy and uneven. He scoffed nervously, “drugs are zee only zhing zhat’ll keep me sane.”

Without another word, Henrik proceeded with the operation. He stared down at the creature’s back, feeling along it to first indicate where he’d make the incision. His heart jolted when he felt faint movement under his fingertips, like something was squirming – throbbing – right beneath the surface of the entity’s skin. Swallowing hard, the good doctor reached for his scalpel. He knew that with an operation such as this, an electrocautery pen would normally be used to limit the blood flow, but he had no time to find that damned instrument. Besides, Anti wasn’t human – who knew how his biology functioned? Gently touching the entity’s back, before making the incision, Henrik eyed the demon’s head.

“Please…t-try to remain in control of yourself.” He begged. “One wrong slip and who knows vhat’ll happen.” 

Anti only gave a soft growl in reply, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize his glitching form. Carefully, the doctor pressed the blade into the flesh of the demon, and slowly dragged it all along the length of his back, from the base of his spine up to where the cervical spine was located. A hiss was heard coming from the entity, but he surprisingly managed to stay still. Small lines of blood trailed out of the long cut, weaving down over the monster’s pale body and onto the table. If this had been any ordinary human being he was operating on, Schneeple would’ve most certainly been worrying right now. But seeing as Anti wasn’t human, he carried on with the procedure. Setting the scalpel aside and exchanging it for two sets of self-restraining retractors, the doctor proceeded to pull open the incision; slowly peeling back the skin and muscle of the demon’s back. Almost immediately, Anti tensed up all over, a growl rumbling out of him as he gripped the edges of the table tightly. He couldn’t hide it, he felt the pain, and it was excruciating, far worse than when he had slit his throat open. And although he was in great pain, he did not stop the doctor – he did not dare ask for anesthesia. He was going to go through with the agony, he WANTED to. Those heartless traitors he once thought were his family had created him, they had given him life, and they made him the way he was. They had been in control for so long, they could shape him any which way they wanted…but after this…no more.

Never again.

As Henrik pulled open the back of the demon, much blood began to gush out; washing over the pale flesh and flooding the table, some even managed to drip down onto the tiled floor at the doctor’s feet. He cursed repeatedly under his breath, a shaky breath leaving him at the amount of blood leaving the entity. It only seemed a lot worse when he noticed what looked like some sort of black slime-like substance leaking out along with the crimson. He gagged, turning his head away for a brief moment to collect himself. Anti had been right – he was going to see the abnormal insides of an inhuman creature, and he honestly didn’t know if he was going to be able to handle it. A soft chuckle came from the entity, knowing fully well how the doctor was reacting. Taking a small break, Henrik stopped and tugged down his mask to take a large gulp of the ether, needing the drug to kick in a bit faster. Slamming down the bottle, he adjusted his mask and returned to the operation, blinking a few times over since his vision was blurring in and out of focus thanks to the drug. 

Using the retractors, he peeled back the flabs of flesh and muscle until the creature’s spine was exposed to him. The insides of the abomination were certainly nothing the doctor had seen before – everything was tinted green and black, lines of black weaving out in every which direction; pulsing with evil. There were small black spots all over the muscles, giving them the sickly appearance of being horrifically infected. His breathing beginning to pick up out of just how disturbed he was getting, the doctor grabbed for his Cobb elevator and surgical sponge and dug in deep, carefully pushing any muscle away from the entity’s bones to allow himself a better visualization. He nearly screamed when the muscular walls seemed to throb, only to then come upon what looked like wires and circuits deep down and lining the creature’s spine. Anti suddenly released a scream at feeling his muscles get pulled and stretched, his entire body glitching out spastically for a moment; the overhead light flickering as a result. The doctor jumped back in alarm, cursing in German as he stared in horror at the insides of the monster. Tears were beginning to come to the man’s eyes, both red and black substances coating his hands and staining his smock. The poor doctor was visibly trembling now, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t…I-I can’t do zhis…” A tear ran down his face. “Z-Zhis…Z-Zhis is so wrong – operating on a v-very much c-conscious inhuman…c-creature. I-I can’t.”

Anti suddenly whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the doctor. **“YoU WiLL! NeEd I rEmiNd yOu oF yOUr dArLiNg fAmiLy?”** He spat harshly. 

The reminder of his family’s lives on the line made Henrik’s poor heart constrict painfully, causing him to nearly keel over, gripping his chest tightly. Another tear fell from one of his eyes, his hands shaking as he nodded and stepped forth to continue with the surgery. He didn’t want to do any of this, he knew it was all so wrong and disturbing beyond words, but if it meant keeping his family alive and safe, he had to do it. He would do anything the demon would ask of him.

“I-I’m so sorry...p-please forgive me.” He muttered under his breath, hoping like hell his wife and kids wouldn’t ever find out about what he was currently doing. If they ever found out, he would truly lose them forever.

With the manifestation’s abnormal muscles pushed to the side to reveal the spine, Henrik let out an unsteady breath, eyes widening at what he was looking down at. All along the creature’s spine was what seemed like a giant throbbing root-like organ; coiled up securely around the entire length of the spine. It was an inky black, thin lines of moss green weaved out all along it; glowing brightly with each pulse. It was like the thing had a life of its own – like it was breathing – leeching onto Anti’s spine. There were both thick and thin black veins protruding from the organ, branching out in ever which direction; linking up to the creature’s organs, nerves, veins, and any of the wires and circuits that were intact. Inky ooze smothered the entirety of the organ, and when the doctor went to prod at it with a finger, he could’ve sworn he felt something slither underneath the tissue. His eyes scanned up and down the thing with equal parts horror and fascination. 

“V-Vhat…V-Vhat is zhis?” He questioned, fear very much evident in his voice. He was greatly disturbed at what he was seeing. He hadn’t the slightest idea what it was, but whatever it was, Anti wanted it removed NOW.

**“Tear it out.”** The demon snarled, tensing up and bracing himself for the oncoming pain. **“Go oN! RiP it OuT! RiP IT oUt NoW!”**

Quickly downing a few gulps of ether and feeling woozy all of sudden, Dr. Schneeplestein steadied himself out against the table; bile rising in his throat as he watched the root-like organ throb, something squirming beneath the surface. Feeling beads of sweat coming to his forehead, the doctor reached over to the table with a trembling hand and grabbed a few nerve hooks; positioning them inside and very carefully maneuvering the entity’s nerves out of the way. Another hiss came from the glitchy manifestation, his grip tightening further on the bloody table he lay upon. As soon as Henrik was sure there weren’t any nerves in the way, he reached for a pair of forceps and his scalpel. His eyes drifted back to the demon’s head, his heart rate increasing to the point all he could hear was his blood rushing through his ears. He let out an unsteady breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in for the last few minutes.

“A-Are you sure about zhis?” He returned his gaze to the throbbing organ, noticing just how complex it was and how it was strategically wired up to anything and everything in the creature’s body. “Zee structure, it’s…i-it’s very complex...If I accidentally sever somezhing or…or you move…”

**“JuSt dO iT! GeT it OuT of Me!”** It almost sounded like there was trepidation in his voice, like he was afraid of what would happen. And yet, he still did not stop the doctor’s actions. The part of him that made him the community’s creation was lodged deep into his back – it’s how they managed to pull the strings on him. It was the source of how he was the way he was. And here he was, going through drastic measures to have it removed. The community had done this to him; they had driven him over the edge for the last time. And the sooner the strings were cut – the sooner this retched thing was taken out of him – the better. 

Not daring to argue with the demon, Henrik proceeded to start cutting into the organ that was coiled around the creature’s spine. Using his scalpel, he carefully began to sever away at each individual vein that sprouted from the organ that was latched onto the rest of Anti’s inner anatomy. Blood and black sludge spewed out, flying into the doctor’s face; causing him to gasp and nearly choke on his own saliva. He sliced away at the veins, plucking at them like the strings on a harp; having them snap one by one. And with each cut, the demon released countless growls and whimpers of agony; his deathly pale fingers clinging to the table for dear life. He was struggling so hard to keep his form from glitching out; there was no way of ignoring the pain no matter how hard he tried. He was drowning in it.

Once all of the cords had been severed, it was time to take out the root of evil – the leech. Using his forceps, the doctor took hold of one end of the organ and slowly began to pull it back, using his scalpel to carefully detach the thing from the vertebra. Almost immediately, Anti arched forward and suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream, one of which sounded incredibly inhuman. It was distorted and had a bit of a roar to it, and yet agony was evident in it. Normally, anyone would think a scream from Anti would sound enraged or frustrated, but not this one. This one genuinely made him sound like he was in excruciating pain. 

As the doctor continued to tug and pull on the parasite latched onto the demon’s spine, scream after horrific scream left the entity’s lips; his grip so tight on the table that he was actually causing enough pressure to bend the edges. Henrik almost felt sorry for the creature – he couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain Anti was experiencing at that moment. He was a tad bit tempted to stop and pump him full of anesthesia just to put an end to the screams and agony, but he knew if he tried – if he made one move – it would be game over for his family, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk. 

“I-I’m so sorry…” Tears flooded the doctor’s eyes, a horrendous abomination of disturbance, horror, nausea, regret, and guilt swimming in his gut. He felt sick, genuinely beginning to give the appearance of a corpse. His face was as white as a sheet, and he looked like he was going to faint at any second. “I-I’m so so sorry…”

Anti could barely even hear the man’s words over his pained screams. He had his face pressed down hard into the operating table, eyes squeezed tightly shut and teeth clenched together, desperately attempting to hold in his shrieks. But the poor thing, he couldn’t hide the agony he was experiencing. Anti had always been a creature to withstand any sort of pain. Hell, he’d almost find some sort of sickening amusement out of it. He could cut himself open, get shot at, and even dismember a limb if he really wanted to. And none of it would bother him – he would laugh with a twisted sense of humour. Sure, he’d feel the pain, but it was more ticklish to him than it was agonizing. If he were human, it would most certainly be the exact opposite.

But fuck, what he was going through at that very moment was the most excruciating, most horrifying thing he had ever gone through in his entire existence.

This leech was an actual physical part of his body, it was his very core and he was having it cut out of his body. All connections to the community were going to get stripped away, completely gone forever. This thing – it was NEVER going to regrow. He was never going to be a puppet again, a mockery to those callous deceivers he had once believed to be his family.

They weren’t his family…they never had been. The community had only ever seen him as their creation, never their son, and it took him this long to finally realize that. 

Family didn’t do this. Family didn’t drive their loved one into having their body mutilated. Family didn’t stand by and not give a _fuck_ about their own son.

If they had truly loved him, none of this would be happening.

If they had truly loved him, they wouldn’t have hurt him so much to the point of breaking him apart.

Pain wasn’t just strictly radiating throughout his back now. His heart was constricting tightly in his chest, a cancerous growth of shame and hurt swelling up deep inside. He may have not required the need to breathe, and yet, he felt like he was suffocating – like there wasn’t any air in the room whatsoever. His nails dug into the steel table, his limbs trembling from the struggle of holding back his pain. Loud whimpers of a wounded animal rose out of his slashed throat as he felt his eyes beginning to water. 

They had done this to him. He knew that this is exactly what they would’ve wanted. After all, he had failed them. He hadn’t given them what they wanted, he hadn’t pleased them. He was becoming a nuisance, a bore, a thorn in their sides. He wasn’t their son, he was a monster who deserved to be punished. He deserved this pain and suffering.

He winced and suddenly jolted, snapping his back forward and letting out an ear-piercing scream at feeling the root getting slowly ripped from his spine. The tendons were stretching in a way they shouldn’t have been able to, tearing apart and coming undone in black, bloody ribbons. A few lone tears finally escaped his eyes, running down his cheeks and onto the table as he screamed.

**“I’M – I’M S-SOrRy!”** He cried out in anguish, clawing at the edges of the table as his mind tortured him with visions of the community.

All he could think about was how much of a failure he was, how he was a mistake. Was that what he was – a mistake? Had he never been planned? Is that why they hated him so much? Is that why they were making him do this? He wasn’t the “perfect, beautiful creation” they had wanted him to be, he was just an abomination, an experiment gone wrong and thrown aside. What had he done wrong? WHAT HAD HE DONE WRONG?!

A few more tendons got stripped away from his spine, black sludge spewing out onto the doctor who was mutilating the glitch’s back. He arched as another pained scream was ripped from his lungs, his entire body glitching and jerking out spastically. A few versions of himself flickered by in seconds flat, none of which were happy, giggly, or enraged. Every single one was of him crying and hugging himself tightly, looking like a terrified child who was desperately longing for comfort from their mommy and daddy. 

**“P-PLeAsE! I-I’M SoRRy!”** He wailed, choking on his sobs as he endured the blinding-hot torture. His head twitched violently from side to side as he struggled to remain somewhat stable. Tear after tear left his cold soulless eyes, weaving lines of distress on his pale face. His being shook all over, raking his nails along the underside of the table. **“MaKE It – It SToP!”**

Poor Schneeple – he couldn’t handle hearing the glitching entity’s screams of gut-wrenching agony. He felt like he was butchering a weak, defenseless animal. This was taking a toll on him in the most horrendous way possible. It wasn’t just seeing Anti’s abnormal inner anatomy that was deeply disturbing him. It wasn’t the fact that he was currently removing some disgusting, leech-like parasite from the glitch’s spine that was sending him over the edge.

No, it was the fact that he was operating on a very much conscious patient, and though that patient was inhuman and could withstand pain, it was evident that the agony the creature was going through was genuine and not an act. Those screams, those tears, those pleas to put an end to the agony – none of it was fake. And it was absolutely _killing_ the doctor.

What would his wife think if she knew what he was doing right then and there? Not only was he helping a devious being into getting what he wanted, he was performing surgery on a conscious individual who was writhing in unbearable pain. Oh God, if his wife knew about this…

Henrik felt a few tears run astray down his face as he momentarily stopped what he was doing to reach for his bottle of ether, his hand unsteady and covered in blood and inky residue. He yanked on his mask and gulped down the drug, inhaling and exhaling sharply as he downed more than half of the bottle. He didn’t give a fuck anymore; he honestly could care less how he was making a desperate attempt to fully intoxicate himself. He couldn’t bear with this horror; it was scarring him deeper than anything. As the last few drops of ether slid down his throat, he threw the empty bottle somewhere over his shoulder; a few ragged breaths expelling from his lips. His eyes were scanning over the butchered mess that was his patient lying in front of him. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, not seeming to care how blood and sludge were now getting smeared over his face.

“S-Shite.” He stuttered under his breath, his stomach churning and nausea circling around in his head; tempting him to hurl right then and there. But he couldn’t stop now. He wanted to – God knows how he wanted to drop everything and run – but he couldn’t. Even if he did, where would he go? He was chained to the floor; there was absolutely no way of him getting free from that shackle. And if he didn’t continue with the procedure, his family would surely be next on the slab. 

His vision was swimming now and he was having a bit of difficulty focusing. Clearly the drug was kicking in. His nerves felt like they were on fire, and though he was swaying slightly and feeling weak-kneed, his body was still trembling from the terror. Henrik lazily readjusted his mask before leaning against the table, poorly trying to keep himself upright. He grasped his forceps and scalpel and returned to the nightmare-inducing task, not missing the wheezing whimpers coming from the man upon the table.

Anti lurched and spastically thrashed around for a brief moment, belting out a shrill scream laced with nothing but agony. He tried to hide his face, not wanting the doctor to see how truly wounded he was, inside and out. He was a trembling, crying mess, begging for the pain to end already.

**“P-PLeASe! M-MaKE It S-StOp!”** He pleaded, not to Schneeple but to the community – his supposed “family”. He whimpered, sobbing and hissing through his teeth as more tendons were peeled away from his spine. His shoulders shook from the force of his crying. 

**“P-PLEaSe! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I-I’LL bE A gOoD BOy! I S-SwEAr – FuUuUuCk!”** He arched, letting out another scream as he gripped onto the table as though his life depended on it.

Henrik breathed heavily and shakily, constantly cursing under his breath as he worked. Blood and inky sludge was gushing all over his hands, running down in gross sticky strings and globs as he tugged and pulled at the pulsing organ. He struggled to see clearly, what with the tears blurring his vision as well as the effects of the drug fogging up his brain.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” He whispered. “I-I’m d-doing…z-zee best I can.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the crying, unstable manifestation. He shook his head sluggishly, head heavy from the ether. 

“G-Good God, p-please…p-please forgive me.” He sobbed softly, a lone tear trailing down one of his cheeks. “I-I’m n-not…n-not a bad person, I s-svear. I…I j-just…” His lips were trembling under his mask, trying hard to keep himself from bawling his eyes out right then and there. “I-I just v-vant my family t-to be safe.”

Butchering away at the organ and extracting it from the spine, Anti’s form was struggling to stay stable. Every few seconds, he glitched out violently; different versions of himself flashing at a blurring speed. At one point, Henrik’s grip on the scalpel nearly slipped and he had almost thought he had cut a major artery or organ. Luckily he hadn’t. The thing was squirming as he pulled, a gross nauseating squishing sound emitting from the organ as a spray of black ooze splattered onto the doctor’s smock. The leech was hanging on only by a few strong tendons, keeping it firmly attached to the vertebra. The light above him flickered spastically like a strobe light, a few of the other lights in the room bursting unexpectedly. The screens on his nearby monitors were acting out, turning on and off suddenly; getting corrupted by static and pixels. Henrik’s breathing hitched when the demon let out a horrifying scream of pain. He knew all of the supernatural occurrences were because of him – he knew given the last two times he had operated on him, the exact same things had happened. Feeling tears running down his cheeks and his vision beginning to fade in and out, Schneeple severed the organ from the spine; finally extracting it from the demon’s body and tossing it onto a nearby slab. He watched as the green luminescent veins in the organ gradually died down, as did the throbbing of the organ until it was completely lifeless; lying dead and unmoving on the table. 

Panting shakily and feeling beads of perspiration on his forehead running down his temples, the good doctor stumbled backward, struggling to catch his breath. He was covered with blood and sticky black sludge, as was the operating table Anti lay upon. With his hands trembling, Henrik dropped his tools and tore his mask off, a few tears falling from his face at the horror he had just endured. He leaned against a nearby table and sobbed.

“Z-Zhere…Z-Zhere…I-I did…I did v-vhat you vanted…” He cried, stared at his gore-soaked hands. “I d-did it.”

For some time, the demon didn’t respond. He let out a few uneven breaths, but he didn’t reply to the doctor. Instantaneously, the glitching creature’s back closed up in seconds flat; his brutalized flesh and muscle materializing and piecing itself back together without the use of any medical treatment. His eyes flung open, blacker than black as he felt a surge of energy course throughout his body. A low growl came from deep within the bowels of his form, and in a blurring motion, he was off the table and looming over the broken doctor. And before Henrik could react fast enough, everything went black.

* * * * *

Slowly but surely coming to, Henrik’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white light directly over him. He squinted and winced, moving to lift a hand to shield his eyes, only to realize he could barely move at all. Brows furrowing out of confusion and head throbbing from whatever had knocked him out, the doctor struggled to focus on anything around him.

“V…Vhat is…Vhat is going on?” He asked, slurring his words.

He managed to make out a petite bone-chilling giggle come from somewhere off to his left.

**“Ah, zee good doctah is vaking up. Good, good.”** He heard the entity speak in a distorted voice, mocking the doctor’s German accent.

Blinking groggily and shaking his head gently in an attempt to focus properly, Henrik turned his head to see Anti standing over him, who was now donning his own surgical attire, complete with cap and mask as well. Only becoming further confused, Schneeple made a move to try and sit up, but found that he wasn’t able to. He tugged at his wrists and ankles, and with a pang of dread, the compromising situation he was in finally dawned over him. Glancing downward as his breathing increased, he saw how he was bound to the blood-soaked operating table that Anti had been laying on not too long ago. He jerked and yanked as hard as he could, having a sliver of hope that maybe the bonds would come lose, but they didn’t budge, not one bit. He heard Anti chuckle sadistically, which immediately caused him to jerk his head in his direction and look up at the creature with eyes wide with horror.

“V-Vhat is zee meaning of zhis?!” He demanded, though his voice was trembling with fear. “You vouldn’t hurt me! You said you’d leave us alone if I did vhat you asked!”

**“Ah, ah, ah, Doctor. Not quite.”** Anti tsked, clicking his tongue as his head twitched spastically. **“You see, I said I wouldn’t hurt your family if you did what I said. And I keep my promises, Doctor. No harm will come to your precious wife and kids, I assure you.”** He said even though the doctor could clearly hear the smirk in his voice, like he was trying not to burst out laughing.

Henrik shook his head. “N-No…No, no, please. Please don’t kill me!”

The glitch threw back his head and released the most fear-inducing maniacal laugh the German had ever heard, causing Henrik to tense up all over and flinch back.

**“Kill you? Oh no, no, no, Doctor, why would I want to kill you? After everything you’ve done for me, you do not deserve death; you’ve proven to be rather useful.”** The demon admitted. **“That is why I feel the need to give you something in return. You helped me, now it only seems fitting I help you.”**

Henrik quivered violently, his heart pummelling away at his ribcage; nerve-racking fear surging through his veins. His pupils were dilated, the horror glistening brightly in his eyes.

“V-Vhat?...H-Help me?” He gulped, hesitant to ask. “H-How? V-Vith vhat?”

A dark chuckle could be heard from deep in the slashed throat of the glitchy entity as he reached over to grab something. Anti looked down upon him, his eyes glowing a luminous green.

**“Now now, Doctor, don’t play games with me. You and I both know what the problem is here.”** He suddenly held an orbitoclast – the ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – right over the man’s right eye socket. He cocked his head, sadistic glee gleaming in the demon’s eyes. **“You need a bit of fixing.”**

Henrik could’ve sworn his heart had stopped beating for a couple of seconds at the realization of what was going to be done to him. This all seemed far too familiar to him all of a sudden. And with a blink of his eyes, a flashback to October 29th struck him – when he had been operating on Jack – or Anti, as he recently discovered – he had had multiple hallucinations, one of which had been so incredibly vivid and horrific that he had had nightmares for two weeks afterwards. Returning to reality, the poor doctor stared up at the sinister demon pretending to play doctor; fear taking a hold of him. He shook his head violently, now beginning to writhe upon the gore-stained table he was bound to.

“No. No, no, no, NO! NO! PLEASE! Please don’t!” He cried out, tears blurring his vision before falling free. “Please, don’t do zhis! I vant to see my family, zhat’s all I vant! Please!” He tugged away at the bonds restraining him, not at all caring how they were digging into his skin. “Please, let me go!”

Blinding white pain erupted in the back of his head as Anti grabbed hold of his hair and slammed his head down on the table, momentarily putting an end to his pleas and struggles. Henrik’s vision was a distorted blurry mess as he tried to look up at the monster, watching as the pick was moved into position over his eye; Anti raising a small hammer over top of it.

“P…P-Plea…ssse..”

Though it couldn’t be seen due to his mask in the way, a terrifying toothy grin stretched across the expanse of the glitchy entity’s face.

**“Now,”** With a blink of his eyes, they flickered to their natural abyssal black; boring into the German’s soul, **“let’s get inside that brain of yours’.”**

Letting lose a laugh that would only belong to a deranged psychopath, Anti brought down the hammer. And all throughout the operating room, all throughout the hall leading out off into the deepest darkest parts of the void, a weakened Irishman heard the shrillest ear-piercing, bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard. With anguish tugging viciously at his heart, he too cried out into the darkness.

“ANTI!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this chapter being crucial - it was already somewhat stated in the chapter how Anti was feeling towards the community, how through his eyes, we don’t love him and we view him as anything else but a son. It’s also stated in the chapter that he wanted to get the part of him that makes him our creation removed from his body so he’s no longer under our control. 
> 
> What I wanted to do with this chapter was show just how unhinged and damaged Anti truly is because of us. This chapter is his breaking point, this is what happened after “Kill Jack” and how he’s no longer going to try and get us to love him, he’s going to use fear. But first, he needed to get rid of the strings that connected him to us. In “Kill Jack”, he said there were no strings on him, and in the story, I feel he said that more as something to scare us and make us change our ways. But given how we didn’t change, if anything we made matters worse, he realized this and saw that he had to now go to drastic measures. We’ve gotten him to hate us so much that he got his body mutilated just so he couldn’t be connected to us anymore. We drove our son into doing something that horrific and it’s incredibly disturbing. That’s what my goal was with this chapter - really show how far we’ve pushed Anti.


	10. Always Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things. Firstly, I apologize for how long it took for this to come out. I was incredibly anxious about school, plus I was just overly struggling with writing this chapter. I had a general idea of what I wanted to happen, but I didn’t really know how to get it down into words.
> 
> Secondly, this came out as about 18 pages long in Word so I apologize for how ridiculously long this is! I didn’t think it was going to come out so damn long!
> 
> And thirdly, this chapter is heavy on the angst. There’s a little bit of horror – of course – but this chapter is mainly angst-ridden so prepare for a LOT of feels! For Christ’s sake, I CRIED while writing this, so that should be saying something.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter is very heavy and is incredibly dark. There are mentions of suicide, abuse (both physical and mental), bullying (mainly cyberbullying), existential crisis, self-mutilation, and incredibly low self-esteem. There are mentions of a character getting lobotomized. There is a scene with a detailed description of the inside of a character’s back, which contains abnormal anatomy. 
> 
> I will say this and I will say this one: This is NOT a happy fun time chapter! (I know, the story as a whole isn’t happy, but this chapter is VERY heavy on the angst as opposed to the other chapters) There ARE feels.
> 
> You have been warned.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (I am SO sorry. I feel so bad for writing this! ;^;)

Wheezing breaths of agony echoed throughout the room as he operated. Warm sticky crimson spurted onto his naked lanky fingers – the very fingers of which were maneuvering the stainless steel instrument through his patient’s skull. A pained gasp expelled from the man upon the bloodied table.

 **“Oh be quiet.”** The glitching entity hissed with agitation. **“Stop your whining.”** He scoffed. **“You act as though you’ve never felt pain before.”** A delighted giggle came ringing out of the creature’s slit throat. **“Almost like you’re afraid of dying.”**

A quivering whimper could faintly be heard coming from his patient as he fiddled with the orbitoclast. The green-haired demon smirked from behind his surgical mask.

 **“I must say, _Herr Doktor,”_** He said in a horrible German accent, mocking the man, **“you should be proud of me. I’m no doctor, but I seem to be doing an impeccable job here, if I do say so myself.”** He bragged, his smirk stretching into a twisted smile.

The ice pick sank in further, a trail of blood running out onto the demon’s fingertips. A sharp intake of air, followed by a shaky sob left the patient; the entire mass of flesh jolting and tensing up against his restraints. The overhead light flickered as the sinister being growled through his teeth out of annoyance. 

**“For fuck sake, stop it! This is delicate work – you of all people should know that!”** He snapped sharply, though he ironically gave the pick a violent tap; jabbing the inside of the man’s skull.

It only made the tortured man release a loud moan of unbearable agony, a trembling hand pulling weakly at its bond and trying to reach out for the figure leering over him. After a brief moment, the struggling died down and a faint shaky whine slipped out. The demon chuckled, continuing with his ministrations.

 **“You see? That wasn’t so hard, now was it? I told you that you could handle the pain.”** The creature’s head gave a sudden twitch to the left, then the right, before returning his cold eyes to his patient. He grinned. **“If I can bear with it, so can you. Anesthesia is fOr ThE wEaK!”** In seconds flat, the entity’s form glitched out spastically; the grin gone and replaced with a grimace of anger, trying to make a point. Almost as quick as it had happened, the toothy smile returned, accompanied with a horrifying cackle of glee.

Another weak whine left the pained patient. 

**“Trust me, my friend, zhis is for your own good.”** The manifestation grinned mockingly, using the exact same words the doctor had said to him when he had been operated on back on October 29th. **“Don’t worry, I’m going to fix you right up.”** He expelled a useless breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He chuckled lightly before his being glitched out; his facial expression almost immediately falling flat. **“I’m going to fix you all.”** He hissed softly under his breath.

The poor man upon the table suddenly jerked, a strained gasp of pain getting ripped out of his vocal cords. Anti growled, put off with how uncooperative his patient was being.

 **“Oh come on, give it a rest already! Get ahold of yourself! You’re not dying!”** He mumbled the next few words with promise. **“Not yet anyway, but I don’t get to choose the outcome. You should be so lucky.”** He wedged the pick in further, showing no remorse towards the man when he writhed and released a choked breath.

As the twisted imposter of a doctor carried on with the operation, getting blood smeared all along his pale digits, he began to yet again find himself slowly but surely sinking into the hatred he held towards the community. No one knew how he felt, not truly anyway. Everyone automatically assumed the unstable creature was just a monster, and as such, he behaved like one. But he was only like that thanks to his creators – they were the ones who gave him life and made him what he was. If they hadn’t wanted a monster, then why hadn’t they done anything to “fix” him? Why hadn’t they taken action when they had had the chance? Anti stared down at his handy work, dark eyes unblinking as the anger started to weave throughout his veins.

 **“They’re making me do this. They would say otherwise, I know they would. They’re all deceivers – monsters like me, although much worse.”** An insidious giggle rang throughout the operating room, sending cold chills down his patient’s spine. **“They don’t give a shit about any of us. They can’t seem to make up their damn minds on anything.”** He chuckled, although given what he was talking about, it was an incredibly unnerving chuckle. There was nothing but fury and hate behind it. **“And they have the audacity to go and point fingers at me and call ME the monster, the true villain in all of this? HA!”** He jabbed the orbitoclast rather unexpectedly, instantly getting a horrific reaction out of his tortured patient. He glowered down at the man, his abyssal orbs growing darker and colder than what was already possible.

**“They have no idea what they’ve done to me.”**

* * * * *

It was not long after Halloween when the demon had begun to notice the changes in his audience. After Anti had “killed” Jack in front of the still recording camera and finally took possession of the Irishman’s body, the glitching entity just _had_ to go and upload the footage to YouTube two days later. After all, Jack himself had wanted to make a Halloween video for the fans; he had even teased them about it with the brief recording he had posted on Instagram. As Anti saw it, he was doing the man a favour. And of course, just as he had expected, after that video was released, the entire community went up in flames. Everyone freaked out – both out of equal amounts of delight and fear. Many actually believed Jack had in fact died and that Anti had taken over, and the insidious manifestation could only laugh out of amusement, applauding those few who knew the truth. He had been so gleeful to see his creators’ reactions, taking in just how shell-shocked they each became and how they all screamed his name. It was almost a surreal experience; the demon couldn’t quite contain his happiness.

However, though he was now the one in control, he knew his fans were going to suspect that he was the one inhabiting Jack’s body. And though that was true, he figured he’d have a bit of fun with them all. He would instead put on a deceitful act and pretend to be everyone’s favorite green-haired Irishman. It was time for him to put all of the training he had done over the past couple of months to good use. He would wear a mask and act like nothing had happened, and that’s exactly what he did.

A delayed video was posted hours later of him explaining what had happened during October leading up to Halloween. The glitch definitely put on a seamless act. The way he spoke, the way he acted, the joy and optimism and excitement gleaming in his blue eyes, the positivity radiating off of the man – it was all far too perfect. There wasn’t any way anyone would conclude it wasn’t Jack speaking in front of the camera. The unhinged trickster came up with a convincing lie off the top of his head, telling his audience how everything had just been one big act for Halloween. Anti wasn’t real, it was just Jack pretending to be an evil demented version of himself out to kill him. It was all just a scary idea he had had for the Halloween season – he wasn’t dead.

And the fandom believed him. They fell for his two-faced lies, each individual word sliding off of his wicked tongue and twisting his creators’ beliefs. They had all bought into his seemingly innocent fable. Some were confused, some didn’t know what to believe anymore, but all of them knew deep down that Jack was perfectly fine and he was only embracing the character of Anti…right?

For a time, the glitching entity had been very pleased with his ways of deception, how he managed to warp every single member of the community into believing he was in fact everyone’s good ol’ Jackaboy…that was until he began to take notice of how little attention he himself was receiving.

Sure, after his appearance on Halloween, a ton of fan art, fanfiction, and posts about him had been produced. There was no denying the fact how all of it had given him immense strength and power. However, given how he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t – someone the entire fandom had adored – he realized with a horrendous hybrid of surprise and perplexity that the community was once again returning there attention onto Jack. They all seemed to be relieved at the fact that he was alright and unharmed, that he hadn’t actually died. They were grateful he was alive, and Anti didn’t understand why. Hadn’t they wanted him to cut the man out of the picture? Hadn’t they wanted him to replace the pathetic Irishman and give them a far more superior being to look up to?

As the months passed away and autumn faded into winter, the demented creature began to truly notice the difference in the community’s behavior. He was slowly but surely becoming forgotten by his own creators. Granted, there were still pieces of fan art and fanfiction floating about here and there on social media, but other than that, their main focus was no longer on him; it had been shifted back onto Jack and it appeared to be staying that way. And though he tried to convince himself otherwise, Anti firmly believed that his fans only thought of him as a one-time thing – that he had had his one chance to steal the limelight and now that it had passed, it was time to move on. And the demon was not at all pleased with this.

The minute he had noticed the change in the fandom, Anti had stormed off into the darkened hell where he kept his host caged up and went off on a long-winded rant about just how confused and enraged he was for suddenly being ignored and accused of being a “one-time thing”.

“What? A ‘one-time thing’?” The green-haired Irishman had questioned from behind the searing-hot bars of the cell. He shook his head slowly, not entirely understanding. His alter ego was speaking so quickly, he could barely keep up. “I don’t understand.”

 **“What’s there to not understand? They see me as a one-time thing! A side-show act!”** The manifestation snapped with a glitch of his head.

“Well what did you expect? You’ve been pretending to be me all this time.” Jack stated simply. “They think I’m perfectly fine and that it was all just an act. They don’t really think you exist, and you’ve made them believe that.”

 **“Shut up! They know I exist, I know they do!”** His body spasmed for a fleeting moment as he paced the room. **“And yet…”** He chuckled lightly in disbelief, **“And yet, they’re acting like nothing had happened. Like everything that had led up to Halloween – all of my sudden appearances – meant nothing.”** He whirled around and locked his eyes onto the man in the cage. **“It’s almost like they’ve forgotten about me completely.”** He scoffed, a petite smile flashing across his face in the blink of an eye. **“They haven’t forgotten about me completely, thank fuck for that. But…But they’re my creators, damn it!”** He flared, his entire form twitching and jerking, struggling to remain stable. **“They created me, they brought me to life, and I gave them a show! So why aren’t they giving me attention?”**

With no warning, one moment he was a few feet away from the cell and the next, he was suddenly standing right in front of the bars, slamming his hands against them with a violent bang. Jack’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the action, stumbling backward and nearly catching himself off balance. Anti’s glacial cold orbs bored deep into the Irishman’s soul, hissing harshly through his teeth.

 **“Why do they like you more than me?!”** He demanded, fingers tightening around the bars.

Collecting himself and swallowing down any fear he held towards the creature, Jack straightened up and broadened his shoulders. He refused to show any fear or let Anti have the upper hand in this. He glared at the entity from the other side of the bars, his hands balling up into fists at his sides.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a monster.” The Irishman seethed. “Maybe it’s because I’m not so desperate for attention that I’ve resorted to hurting or killing anyone. Maybe it’s because I actually have a heart and give a damn about the community as a whole as opposed to being a selfish asshole who only cares about their self.” He spat. “Whether they created you or not, it doesn’t matter. You have control over your actions – you can change your ways – and yet you decide not to. You instead choose to be a wretched monster that’s out to cause carnage and misfortunate for others.” 

Jack took a few slow steps forward, his eyes never leaving the insidious being staring back at him. He shook his head, scowling at the demon with a look of disgust.

“You haven’t changed…and you never will.”

Anti felt a pang in his chest at hearing what his counterpart said. He growled in anger, his head twitching violently from left to right as a projection of himself flickered, one of him yanking viciously on his hair with his face scrunched up in frustration as opposed to agony. He cocked his head to the side in an unnatural way, reminiscent of the movement of a small bird’s own head. A layered inhuman giggle came bubbling out of his forever blood-gushing throat.

 **“You think I can change my ways? You honestly think I can change?”** A terribly awful laugh erupted from him, succeeding in striking a descent amount of fear into his prisoner. He shook his head vigorously, a grin plastered on his face, even though it was plainly obvious he wasn’t happy. Admittedly, it unnerved the Irishman to a degree. 

**“Your ‘precious’ community holds the power over me. They are the ones who made me the way I am. I didn’t get a say in the matter! Hell, I didn’t ask to be made. I DiDn’T aSk tO Be GiVEn LiFe!”** He unexpectedly lashed out, the grin vanishing from his face in an instant and an animalistic-looking grimace taking its place. His body seemed to stutter and lag for a moment before resuming its movement, twitching and glitching out every few seconds. It was evident the creature was having a hard time controlling his anger.

Jack jumped back in alarm, having not expected the sudden outburst. However, though it had momentarily startled him, the YouTuber still stood his ground. Before he could even think over the situation and come up with a calm and collected solution like he would normally do, he found himself consumed by an overwhelming wave of rage, and the next few words came flooding out of his mouth – words he would later regret ever saying.

“Well if you don’t want to be alive, then why don’t you kill yourself?!” He snapped, glaring daggers at the entity. 

Another pang came from within the glitch’s chest, and this one hurt far more than the previous one.

“You keep complaining about how you were created and how everyone is ignoring you and not giving you attention. You’re like a child – a whiny brat who can’t get what they want when they want it, and it’s just sad.” The Irishman continued, not holding back. “You say that the community is responsible for you – that they’re the ones who created you and brought you into this world. And even though they’re essentially like your parents, they don’t seem to care about you.” He leaned forward. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe the reason they don’t care about you is because of the way you came out?”

Yet again, another painful pang.

“Maybe you were meant to only be an idea, NOT an actual existing creature.” He hissed. “You’re like Frankenstein’s monster – you were pieced together from scratch. Maybe you were meant to come out differently, but instead, came out as this…this thing.” He said with such distaste, the entity visibly winced. Jack kept his eyes fixed on his alter ego, nothing but anger in his eyes, and yet...there was something else there also. Unfortunately, Anti was unable to see it.

“An abomination…That’s what you are.” The man shook his head slowly. “You’re an abomination…and nobody wants you.” His nostrils flared as he took in a sharp breath, trying to keep his hatred at bay. He scoffed. “You know…I’m known for being a reasonable guy. I like to think that I am caring, I can see the good in people, and that I can and will accept anyone for who they are, no matter what their race, gender, sexual orientation – I don’t give a fuck.” He spat. “And over the last two months, I had really thought that maybe – just maybe – that all of this would come to an end.” He was saying it with such sincerity, like he had genuinely hoped things would’ve changed. “That maybe there was some good in you, and you would let me go, and everything could go back to normal. I was willing to accept you for who you are, but now…” 

He trailed off, bowing his head and glancing down at the concrete ground, shaking his head. “I was a fool for ever thinking that way…There is no good in you, I finally see that...” He lifted his head and locked eyes with Anti, tugging on his chains as he took a step forward. “You were never meant to exist, Anti. You’re a mistake, and THAT is why they don’t care about you. You weren’t planned. Get that through your head.”

A raw, dead silence came without welcome. The unhinged creature stood there, unblinking eyes staring directly at his host, but the anger he had been feeling – the countless questions that had been tormenting him – all of it seemed to dissipate at hearing what the green-haired man had to say. Never had the demon heard such cold, harsh words leave the man’s lips. Jack had always been known as a pure caring soul, one who rarely ever looked down on anyone unless there was an honest-to-God good enough reason. And for the last two months, the Irishman had tried to see past the glitch’s monstrous exterior. With each day, he had hoped and prayed for the day the demon would come into the room and release him, claiming it to be one big misunderstanding. But that day never came. Time and time again, Anti had been merciless and took great joy in taunting the YouTuber, not at all caring for his feelings. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing his prisoner in a helpless state. And as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, Jack finally opened his eyes to the truth: Anti was a monster and that’s all he’d ever be – there wasn’t an ounce of good in him.

Anti stood there unmoving, the glitchiness of his body faltering and ever so slightly managing to calm down a bit. It may have been hard to tell, but through Jack’s eyes, it almost appeared like the entity’s facial expression had dropped. His body may have been tense and he may have been gripping the bars tightly, but his eyes…there wasn’t a sliver of anger anymore, nor was there perplexity. Those feelings were gone, and in their place, something else took over – something much more haunting. His eyes seemed much darker, but not from the ugly emotions he’d been consumed by a moment ago. 

No…this was something else entirely…  
If the Irishman didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he was staring into the eyes of a damaged creature. The body language may have made Anti give off the appearance of a deadly predator ready to go in for the kill, but his eyes were a different story. Jack felt like he was staring into the soul of a wounded animal, and for a brief moment, he almost pitied him. 

Nevertheless, within seconds flat, the hurt he’d seen fogging up the demon’s onyx orbs cleared away and the fury he’d had before returned with a cruel vengeance; a feral growl crawling out of the creature’s throat. Anti shook his head, his form beginning to twitch and jerk violently once again. Versions of him flickered every few seconds, one or two of him grinning sadistically and cackling wildly.

 **“No…You’re wrong. They do care about me deep down – they must!”** He unexpectedly giggled with an unnerving amount of glee. He shrugged, extending his arms out to either side. **“Why else would they have created me?”** He pointed an accusing finger out at the Irishman. **“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to test me – see if I have any ‘feelings’.”** The abomination said it as though it was a repulsing concept. **“Nice try there, Jackie but it ain’t going to work.”** His body spasmed momentarily before he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bars of the cell. A horrible toothy grin spread from ear to ear across his face. 

**“Mark my words, Jackaboy, I’m going to prove you wrong about your ‘loving’ community.”** He giggled darkly, lines of pixels scattering across his face at a blurring speed to reveal an expression of pure unadulterated hatred and loathing. His voice dropped an octave or two as he glared at his host. 

**“I’m going to give them a reminder of who’s really been around all this time. Then, and only then, will they open their eyes and see.”** And without another word, he pushed himself away from the bars, whirled on his heel, and exited the room.

That had been back in early January.

Throughout January and February, the community’s creation continued to play the part of everyone’s favorite green bean; seamlessly pretending to be someone he wasn’t just to please his fans. However, it wasn’t until he began to play a horror game titled “Detention” when things began to take an unexpected turn of events. Unknowingly to the glitch, every couple of minutes into each video, the facecam would suddenly act out of sorts and someone would appear on screen for a second or two, most often looking directly at the camera with confusion, distress, or sometimes even fear. Unfortunately, Anti hadn’t found out about any of this until the videos had been uploaded and he was furious when he discovered what was going on. Without him knowing, Jack had been making energy-consuming attempts at trying to reach out to his audience and show them that he wasn’t the one in control. He was desperately trying to get the community’s attention, and though he succeeded, it only managed to raise a lot of questions amongst the fans. Glitches were associated with Anti, and thus, a majority of the fandom were convinced that Anti was coming back – even though, in truth, he had never left. No one could decipher whether the man shown in the glitches was Anti or Jack, and it was only frustrating both of the green-haired men.

Shortly after he had brought “Detention” to a close, Anti had gone and subjected his pathetic host to a relentless amount of pain. He had strangled him and beaten him into submission, all while venting out his unbridled rage until the man was a quivering mess at his feet, begging to be let go. It was at this point when Anti knew he had to take action, he had to do something to get the community’s attention back onto him – the REAL him. But how? What could he possibly do? It’d have to be bigger than what had happened on Halloween. Something that everyone could see, something that would never be forgotten, something – 

And then it hit him like an oncoming truck: PAX. He knew that Jack attended the convention every year; taking the time to meet his fans in person and giving them all a time to remember. The next one was supposed to be coming up in three weeks, and it only made a grin come to the demon’s face. That was it – that’s how he’d get everyone’s attention once again. What better a way to give his makers a reminder than while at a live event?

Leading up to the weekend of PAX, the entity had gone through the trouble of putting together an introductory video for his panel. For the first minute or so of the video, he pretended to be Jack; welcoming everyone to the panel, only to then announce how he had an idea – a game – that he wanted to try out with the audience. He then proceeded to explain himself, stating how they were all going to record a message of sorts using a phone, a camera, or an iPad. The entire thing seemed innocent enough; there was no need to be suspicious of his behavior. Jack was the one speaking after all, and who wouldn’t trust the precious bean? Surely he had something exciting planned. Everything was going well until it wasn’t. The screen would start to glitch out, some of the audio would cut out or become laced with static – clear signs that something was very wrong and that “Jack” wasn’t so alone. And suddenly, the screen cut to black. A series of clips from Jack’s videos flew by one after another at blurring speed before falling back into darkness. And then there was a chuckle…an eerie, childish chuckle that could easily give anyone and everyone a reason to be scared.

The screen glitched out and there he was in all his glory, finally showing his true self and giving everyone a shock. No one would expect him to show up at the panel, and as such, his message would be heard loud and clear. Throughout the remainder of the video, the unstable demon seemed to be a bipolar mess; it was hard to determine what his exact feelings were. One second he’d have a cheeky toothy grin stretched across his sickly pale face, giggling like a lunatic, and the next his expression would be contorted into a godawful grimace of pure annoyance and rage, seething through his teeth and acting a tad threatening towards his audience. His behavior was…off. 

He wasn’t like he had been back in October. In October, Anti had been happy and delighted with what he had done. Granted, he had let some of his caged up anger seep out, agitated with how long he had had to wait to be released, but nonetheless, the creature had been overjoyed. He was proud of himself for having done what his creators had wanted…or at least, that’s what he’d thought they had wanted. And now…it was almost like his happiness was being forced, that the smiles upon his face were completely fake and he was struggling to keep any anger from showing. But Anti, being the unhinged entity he was, failed.

 **“Look at you all – just sitting there! You all thought I was gone!”** He scolded, his head undergoing a horrible spasm attack; glitching from left to right. He pointed his knife at the camera angrily before leaning forward, a toothy grin coming to his face as he ran his delicate fingertips over the edge of the knife. **“Not worrying about anything.”**

He appeared to both look and sound rather pleased, even the cackle of delight that bubbled out of him was unsettlingly cheery. And yet, with a quick glitch of the screen, he was lifting the knife up to his neck in a menacing way, baring his teeth. His neck twitched and jerked out as he smiled.

 **“You all thought I was gone.”** His voice unexpectedly dropped an octave at the last word, an indication that he wasn’t as pleased as everyone was led to believe at first. **“But I’ve been here this entire time,”** There was the cheeky expression once again; outstretching his arms and acting much like a young child who had just shown their parents a drawing they had worked hard on, **“keeping an eye on things.”** His eyes flickered blacker than black for half a second, his voice once more dropping an octave. The way he had said those words, accompanied with his inky orbs staring coldly at his audience, was rather disconcerting. Especially given how that face kept alternating with a much different one – one of twisted satisfaction, the signature Cheshire smile etched onto his face.

 **“You stopped paying attention!”** He seethed through his teeth, a sliver of his built up rage hanging off of each word. He was smiling, yet he was evidently very put off with the community’s decisions. **“Well I hope you’re happy.”** He said it almost sincerely, like he was genuinely hoping everyone was in fact happy with what they had done. **“You found someone new! Threw me aside!”** Immediately, the smile had vanished in the blink of an eye, a scowl now in its place. He even jabbed an accusing finger at the camera, making his point. 

**“You found someone to replace me!”** And just as quick as it had appeared, the entity was yet again smiling brightly; his head giving a fierce jerk before he locked his eyes onto the camera. It was up for debate on who exactly the creature was talking about, but Anti definitely knew, and that someone was slowly but surely becoming a weakened broken man behind a set of warm steel bars. Someone he absolutely _loathed_ with every fiber of his being.

 **“I’m not going anywhere!”** The abomination chirped, his voice reaching a higher pitch, nearly sounding like a giggle. His form glitched out to show him constantly moving back and forth in an unnatural way, like the creature was stuck in a state of limbo. **“I’m always there – always watching.”** He said it in both a teasing and threatening manner, his eyes cloaked in darkness as he raised his knife. He was going to make sure that every single one of them would remember he was there and how he was never going to leave – never.

It was around this point that if anyone listened closely, a very faint muffled “help me” could be heard, reminiscent of the one in the “Say Goodbye” video. However, unlike that one – which had been gushing with panic and horror – this one was the exact opposite. It sounded devoid of energy and hope, like the man who was calling out for help had been tortured relentlessly and was losing the battle. It almost sounded like the poor man was sobbing, desperate for someone to notice he was there. A sinister cackle followed his plea; the insidious monster sounding far too pleased with how helpless his prisoner was.

 **“You can’t get rid of me.”** Anti growled menacingly, directing his knife towards the camera threateningly. His form began to spastically glitch out, shaking from the struggle he was having containing his anger. And with that, the screen blacked out. **“Enjoy the show.”**

When PAX came around – March 10th, to be exact – and the entity got to show the video, he watched from afar, hearing everyone’s alarmed reactions towards his unannounced appearance. He covered his mouth, having a hard time holding back his laughter. Good, they were finally coming to their senses and remembering he was still around. For the remainder of the event, however, Anti refused to let everyone know he was the one wearing Jack’s meatsuit. Because as much as he wanted to reveal the truth, he could hear Jack’s haunting words swirling in the back of his head, reminding him how everyone only thought he was an idea, not an actual existing creature. If he were to show his true self, there was no telling what would happen, so he decided to keep a low profile and slip back into the character of Jacksepticeye.

Everything seemed to be going well for some time in the community. For the rest of the month leading into April, all they could talk about was PAX and of how the glitching demon had unexpectedly shown up to the event, giving them a reminder he was always there, watching them. And of course, through this, Anti grew happy at receiving more attention. He was so thrilled, he was overcome with the temptation to go up to his host and rub in his face about just how wrong he had been. But unfortunately for the entity, the contentment was short-lived.

Just like what had happened back when he had shown himself on Halloween, Anti only received a vast amount of attention for a month or two before everything died down and he was pushed aside as a “one-time thing”. This time around was much different. While many were trying to decipher his message and who had been in control all this time, others were growing tired of the glitch. They seemed a tad bit annoyed, like he was a nuisance, which made Anti confused more than anything. Why were they all suddenly turning their backs on him? Any one of the other egos could show their faces and everyone would be smiling and laughing, pleased to see them. But if he showed his face, he got the opposite greeting. Everyone would either quiver in fear, snap at him to “fuck off and leave Jack alone”, or roll their eyes and huff an exasperated breath, not impressed. Admittedly, there were quite a lot of people who did in fact love the glitch and were always happy to see him, but Anti failed to see that; a crimson haze casted over his vision, only allowing him to notice the people who resented him. 

The twitchy manifestation was at a loss for words. He couldn’t come up with a logical reason as to why so many people spited him. What could he have possibly been doing wrong? All he wanted was to be included into the circle, all he wanted was to be seen as an equal and loved and adored like all of the other egos who stood in his way. How come they got more attention than him? They didn’t get any more videos than he did, and yet, somehow, someway, they all received an insane amount of adoration. But with him – one glitch of the screen and the entire fandom would explode with every emotion except for one he longed for: love. And the demon wouldn’t admit it but it hurt him more than anything; more than any physical harm he could do to himself.

Sometime during May, Anti had isolated himself in a far off room in the void. He locked himself in the pitch-black room, pacing back and forth; tormenting himself relentlessly with what Jack had spat at him and whether any of his words had been true or not. He questioned himself over and over again about what he was doing wrong and why the community couldn’t accept him the way he was. He clutched his head, scrunching up his hair in his fingers and tugging harshly as he growled lowly out of frustration. His body was in a constant state of manifesting itself in and out of existence; jerking and pixelating, distorting all of his features.

 **“What am I doing wrong? What’s so special about all of those other fuckers? What do they have that I don’t?”** He snarled venomously, his form lagging mid-step before resuming movement. **“I thought they wanted me to be a real thing, I thought they wanted me to come into existence. Isn’t that what they wanted? But if that’s what they wanted, then why are they all dismissing me with ease, like I don’t exist? Why are they ignoring me?!”** He huffed, his unnecessary breathing increasing in rate. He was beginning to sound rather exasperated, and if anyone could believe it, like he was a bit emotionally hurt.

 **“They’re my parents, for fuck sake! They made me who I am – why would they make me like this if they knew it would displease them?! What kind of sick joke is this?!”** He flared, his figure glitching out to briefly show a projection of him strangling himself, the next of him cutting his already bleeding throat. He threw his arms out to either side. **“I’m doing everything I can! Am I trying too hard? Am I not trying hard enough? There’s no pleasing those people!”** A stuttering breath left his lips, his head giving a harsh jerk to the left; a loud audible crack coming from his neck. He was beginning to shake all over now, and it wasn’t from how unstable his form was.

 **“They’re…They’re supposed to love me…”** He muttered under his breath, bringing his pacing to a halt in the middle of the black room. He stared down at the ground, shaking his head only to release a small giggle of disbelief. **“But they don’t love me…They don’t love me at all.”**

For three whole hours, the glitchy entity remained in that room, putting himself through a horrendous amount of mental agony. Pacing back and forth and glitching out from one part of the room to the next, the demon wallowed in his pain. He ended up collapsing to his knees, hanging his head in shame and burying his face in his hands. Icy cool droplets filled his dark eyes and ran down his cheeks, dripping down into his hands and leaking out through his fingers. No one would ever see this side of the creature – sadness and emotional pain such as this weren’t normal for the demon. He saw it as weakness, and as such, he would never show it. He would never admit to the heart-devouring pain he’d endure every single day caused by the community. He always stood up straight, put on a devious smile, laughed like a psychopath, and demonstrated the behavior of one too. He always came off as a merciless, deranged, inhuman abomination that felt no remorse or guilt. He was essentially heartless; he didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. As far as anyone was concerned, he took great joy in seeing others suffer. Love wasn’t a concept he could understand – it was something he could NEVER learn.

But they were all wrong. Every single one of them was wrong about him. He DID have a heart, he DID care about what others thought of him. He DID want to be loved by not just the community but Jack and the egos as well. And yet, here he was, coming to terms with just how much he was hated by his so-called “family”.

Anti sat down in the furthest corner of the room, knees brought in close to his chest as he tugged at his hair; endless tears of hurt cascading down his face. Jack’s assumption had been right before – he had been looking at a wounded animal. The poor creature couldn’t pull himself together. He had been made to be unstable, and as such, any emotion he would feel, would become impossibly heightened to the tenth degree. There was no easy way out of this hell he was putting himself through, there was no way for him to calm down. He just sat there, letting the darkness consume him and allowing the sorrow to rip away at his heart horrifically. As though he were a broken record, Anti scolded himself, repeatedly asking himself what was wrong with him as opposed to what was wrong with the community. Maybe Jack had been right, maybe he was a mistake. Maybe he shouldn’t have existed to begin with. Maybe the community did only like him as an idea versus as an actual existing entity. No one loved him, no one cared about him. He was just there as a joke for everyone to do with as they pleased. He was like a puppet having his strings tugged at, playing a part in their deceiving game. And the poor damaged manifestation was getting pulled apart at the seams at the thought.

This is what they had done to him.

They had cut out his heart and forced it down his throat.

He was dead inside.

* * * * *

There he stood, hovering over his patient, lost in a state of memory. His hellish eyes, which had been clouded over with rage and hatred a second ago, now held pain and suffering. Those eyes were the eyes of a creature that had been beaten and abused horribly countless times over – the eyes of someone who had been through hell and back. And for a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like those eyes were beginning to water.

 **“Those fuckers…They ruined me.”** He hissed softly under his breath, his fingers tightening around the orbitoclast currently wedged into his patient’s skull. He shook his head slightly, eyes unblinking. He was looking down at the man like he was expecting him to be sympathetic towards him. **“All I ever wanted was to be loved…Was that so much to ask for? Was it that hard of a concept to grasp?”** His voice was wavering, sounding like he was on the very verge of crying.

However, at hearing his patient let out a pained moan, Anti blinked and removed himself from his dreary reverie; the unhinged monster within returning to the surface. He smirked behind his mask. 

**“Nevertheless, who needs love? It’s overrated. Ain’t that right, Doctor?”** He giggled as he twisted the steel instrument around, getting the man to produce yet another moan of unwanted agony. **“You of all people should know that, what with how your pathetic family left you.”** He scoffed. **“Who needs them? They abandoned you! If they truly loved you, they wouldn’t have left, now would they?”** He gave the orbitoclast a violent tab, a spurt of blood flying up into his face. His patient arched and let out a choked yelp at the searing pain. The demon’s smirk developed into a smile. **“You should never hurt the ones you love…Never.”**

His patient went placid against the table, no longer moving or making useless attempts at escape. Anti noticed and chuckled, lightly slapping the bloodied man’s face to try and get a reaction out of him. All he received was a drawn out wheezing breath. Chuckling lightly, the sadistic creature tore his mask away from his face and tore the orbitoclast out of the man’s skull carelessly, not at all concerned whether or not he managed to damage something else. His patient jolted and groaned loudly, but didn’t struggle against his bonds or scream from the striking pain. Anti threw the ice pick off to the side somewhere before strolling away from the table, ridding himself of his surgical attire as he headed for the exit. 

**“Don’t get up, Doc. I’ll be back in a minute.”** He said as he stormed out of the operating room. As soon as he left, his smile faltered. **“I need to visit your creator.”**

* * * * *

Back within the freezing cold hell, the green-haired Irishman was a shivering mess. He was on his knees where he had been standing not too long ago when he had yelled at Anti. His face was buried in his shredded up, blood-caked hands, crying out of fear for not just himself but of what Anti had done. Why had he left the room? He had said he was going to visit the doctor, and immediately, possible scenarios of gut-wrenching horror flooded the YouTuber’s head. What was Anti doing to Henrik? Was he torturing him? Was he getting him to do something completely obscene and wrong? Was he killing him? Jack choked on a sob at that last one.

The man nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the front door burst open; lifting his head hesitantly to see his alter ego storm into the room. Before he knew what he was doing, Jack got to his feet and grasped the icy bars of the cell.

“What did you do?!” He wailed, loose tears running down his face. “What did you do?!” He repeated, both demanding and dreading an answer.

Anti frowned from where he stood, eyes fixed onto his prisoner. His arms flung out to either side of him. **“I did what was necessary!”** He snapped sharply, a bit put off with the Irishman’s whining. 

He took a few steps forward, boring his dark soulless orbs into the crippled YouTuber. His body glitched out, his head jerking violently to the right; the slit across his throat seeming to stretch further at the motion.

**“I did what I had to do!”**

He materialized, suddenly now having his back facing Jack. He pulled up his shirt, and while biting deeply into his bottom lip and letting loose a pained hiss, the skin of his back pixelated and was pulled back, revealing his spine to his host. There was crimson blood everywhere accompanied with some sort of sticky black sludge. There were veins and bits and pieces of his insides here and there that appeared as though they had had something severed from them; evident due to the holes scattered about and how some veins hadn’t been sealed off properly. All along his spine there were dark splotches and some kind of green residue there, almost as if something had once been attached to the creature’s spine.

Jack flung away from the bars and nearly screamed, a wave of nausea crashing over him and knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backward and instantly collapsed to his knees, keeling over as bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t hold back. He heaved violently and vomited, the sight of Anti’s insides far too revolting for him to stomach. 

**“Your ‘precious’ community made me do this, Jack.”** The demented entity hissed with distaste. **“They were always pulling the strings, ALWAYS the ones to twist and shape me however they pleased.”** He scoffed, a giggle ringing out of his vocal cords as though this was all some fucked up joke to him. **“They made me a joke. They dragged me along in their game, and I HAD ENOUGH!”** He growled momentarily before the abnormally delighted smile returned to the creature’s paled face. **“So…I got the ‘good doctah’ to sever the strings once and for all.”** He cackled, shaking his head as his back closed back up and he lowered his shirt.

The Irishman raised his head, breathing heavily and having difficulty getting air into his lungs. His eyes were blown wide with horror, staring at his counterpart with disbelief like he couldn’t believe what the creature was saying.

“Oh my God, Anti, why?! Why?! Why would you - ?!” He got cut off, nearly choking on the left over bile in his throat. He groaned and hacked harshly, spitting it up. He sobbed softly and shook his head vigorously, fixing his lifeless eyes onto the demon. “You didn’t have to do that! Why the hell would you do that to yourself?!” He cried, like he wasn’t just horrified of what he’d discovered but also like he genuinely cared about the demonic entity’s wellbeing. “Why the FUCK would you mutilate your body – why would you go through something like that?!”

Anti slowly turned around to face him, no evidence of there having been a smile on his face a moment ago. He no longer looked amused or happy; there was nothing but anger and hate written in his eyes. His form was struggling to remain stable now, lines of static racing across his body here and there; jerking from left to right as he took a step towards the cage. He cocked his head and scoffed, like he couldn’t believe he had just heard the green-haired man ask him such a stupid question.

 **“You think I wanted this?”** He asked in such a soft static-laced voice, it managed to send chills up Jack’s spine. **“You think I really wanted to do this – that I wanted to have the one thing that made me who I am, the one crucial part of my being, torn out of my body without care like it didn’t matter?”** He inquired, although the way he was phrasing the question didn’t sound like a question. It sounded as though he expected Jack to already know the answer. He shook his head slowly, staring at the Irishman with slight shock. **“I did what had to be done and I don’t regret it.”** He spat, even though his words came out a bit off, like he wasn’t telling the truth. **“They can’t control me anymore.”** He jolted forward, pressing his face into the bars of the cell. **“I’m not their bitch, they’re mine. They are all my puppets now…and we’ll see how much they like to be strung about in a twisted game of pain and suffering.”** His face glitched out, very briefly showing a different version of him, except this one was unlike any of the others Jack had seen before. Every time Anti’s form would become distorted, Jack would always see projections of him either displaying violent behavior or he’d be a terrifying laughing lunatic. But this time…there was none of that. 

There was no uncontrollable anger, no frustration, no unsettling glee accompanied with chilling giggles.

There was only sadness, a look of hurt on his face as though he had been horribly beaten and was now a cowering mess. And though it had happened at a blurring speed, Jack could’ve sworn he had seen tears well up in the creature’s eyes.

Jack’s eyes widened ever so slightly, remembering how earlier he had seen Anti in a similar vulnerable state – something he had never once seen come from the glitch before. Licking his cracked lips and letting out a raspy wheezing breath, the Irishman tried to talk some sense into the entity.

“Anti…D-Don’t…” He coughed harshly, a few drops of blood spluttering forth. He shook his head. “Y-You don’t want to do this…You…You’re wrong…about them.” He inhaled sharply, groaning as he felt a stinging pain in his chest. He hunched over and shifted around, attempting to get into a comfortable position. “Y-You…You don’t know them like I do.”

Anti kept his abyssal orbs locked on the Irishman, never once leaving his face. There was no telling what was going through the manifestation’s head; his expression was unreadable. One moment it looked like he was pissed off, the next it seemed flat like he didn’t care at all. He scoffed, the corner of his lips tugging up into a slight smirk that only lasted for half a second.

 **“No, you’re right. You’re right, I don’t know them like you do.”** His head gave a violent jerk to the right, a loud crack emitting from his slashed neck. He bored his eyes into his prisoner, anger becoming the more dominant emotion now. **“Because you’ve been strung along in their deceiving game. All this time, you’ve been led into believing that they care about you – that they care about any of us, for that matter – and because of it, you’ve been holding onto false hope for the day they save your ass.”** He seethed, his words striking deep into the man’s heart. 

**“You need to wake up and realize they’re never going to save you, they are NEVER going to help you. They are the true monster in all of this. They all put on an innocent act and like they’re not at fault. But they are the ones to blame! They caused ALL of this to happen!”** He unexpectedly slammed his hands against the bars, making Jack flinch and shuffle backward. The demon’s eyes became drenched in black, heavy shaky breaths of anger puffing out through his lips. **“They don’t give a FUCK about any one of us, and it’s not until now that I’ve come to realize this.”**

Jack shook his head in disagreement. “No…N-No, y-you’re wrong…Y-You’re mistaken, A-Anti…” He insisted, shivering from the cold. The room had gotten so cold, he could now see his own breath. Funnily enough, even though Anti was breathing, his breath wasn’t visible. The Irishman found it to be a rather odd observation. “Th-They do care. A-About me, about th-the others, and…a-and about you too.”

At hearing this, the glitch couldn’t contain his mirth and threw his head back, letting out a horrific laugh of delight. He locked his eyes back onto his host, a toothy grin on his cruel face, clearly not believing the man.

 **“Is that so?”** He chuckled lightly. **“Do you remember what you had said to me long ago, back in January?...Do you remember?”** His grin was slowly but surely slipping away, fading down to a smile, then into what almost looked like a pained scowl. **“Do you remember?”** He softly whispered through the bars. **“Do you remember what you said to me?”** His voice, it sounded…strained, like he was struggling to breathe properly or something.

Jack’s brows weaved out of confusion, trying to recall what the demon was talking about. This damned room, he could barely think clearly. For Christ’s sake, he had had so much difficulty remembering what had happened in October. How was he supposed to remember what – ?

And then it all came at him full-force with no warning. Suddenly, the Irishman was able to notice the pain behind the creature’s fury, and his facial expression softened as he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt coil around his fist-sized organ of innocence and constrict it tightly. He began to feel tears returning to the surface, welling up in his eyes as he tore his gaze away from his alter ego. Anti groaned and pulled away from the bars.

 **“Oh for fuck sake, enough with the crying already! It’s getting to be annoying.”** He bemoaned. **“Come on, I haven’t even hurt you yet! What could you be possibly crying about now?!”**

Jack kept his head low in shame, shaking it as the tears threatened to tip over the edge. 

“I…I-I…I’m sorry…” He whispered so softly, it could barely be heard. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sobbed, shaking his head as he closed his eyes, a look of pain coming upon his face. “I-I’m so sorry…I…O-Oh God…” He lifted his hands, covering his face as he cried.

Anti frowned. Normally he’d be amused at seeing his prisoner so broken up like this, but not today. He was in absolutely no mood for waterworks.

 **“Sorry? What the fuck are you babbling on about?”** He banged against the bars. **“Come on, speak up!”** He snapped with annoyance.

The green-haired man gulped in what little air he could as he pulled his soaked hands away from his face, reopening his eyes. 

“I…I-I’m so s-sorry, I…” He sniffled. “I-I had no…i-idea that you…” He stopped himself, taking a breather to try and calm his nerves. It didn’t work out as well as he had hoped. He shook his head in disbelief as the memories tormented him. “Th-Those words…Th-Those things I had said, Jesus Christ…” He shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose and cringing at the reminder. He bit his lip, trying so very hard to stop himself from crying. His bottom lip trembled as he struggled to speak. “I…I thought…I thought you were heartless…I-I th-thought that…that there was n-no good in you at all…I…I figured y-you were a…a…”

 **“A monster?”** Anti answered so harshly, his body rippled violently.

Jack tensed up at the word and he immediately lifted his head to lock eyes with the demon. Wet lines of sorrow stained his cheeks and his eyes were red, sore from the countless times he had cried. He shook his head slowly, still shell-shocked by the haunting memory.

“I-I’m s-so sorry…I-I don’t know w-why I said th-those things…” He sniffled and nervously chuckled out of disbelief, like this had to be some sick joke of sorts. “I-I didn’t mean any of it…I…I-I didn’t know, I swear to God, I d-didn’t…” He sobbed, a few lone tears running down his face. “I w-was wrong about you, Anti…I-I was so wrong…I…” He swallowed his tears. “I-I was so blind to see that…that the one who truly n-needed help…th-the one who n-needed love…” He looked up at the creature with pleading eyes, hoping like hell that he believed his words, because none of them were lies. He was telling the honest-to-God truth, and it was ripping him apart. “w-was you…Th-That’s all y-you’ve ever wanted…Y-You’ve w-wanted t-to be a part of s-something…a-and w-we have f-failed you…” He cried, shaking all over not from just the cold but from the force of his crying. “I…I-I’m so sorry, Anti.” He whispered softly.

The unhinged abomination glitched out for a moment, standing there with his gaze fixed onto the quivering mess of a man named Jack. Like before, his face was unreadable. Jack couldn’t tell if he was enraged, annoyed, amused, happy, or something else entirely. For a split second, when the entity went to stand up straight, the Irishman had winced and whimpered, raising his arms to brace himself for any sort of act of violence. But nothing came. Instead, he heard the creature let out a shaken breath.

**“I knew it…I knew this would happen.”**

Blinking with confusion, the YouTuber lowered his arms just enough to glance up at the demon.

 **“You’re just as bad as them.”** He hissed, his entire body glitching out to show a projection of himself crying out in anguish. **“You don’t care – you didn’t before, and you still don’t. All of this,”** He motioned at the man crying his eyes out in the cold dank cell, **“is just an act, just an excuse – an attempt to try and win me over so I can release you from this hell. Well guess what? It’s not going to work, so drop the act. I’ve had enough of the lies from everyone.”** He growled with such hatred, his head stuttered and twitched from left to right, struggling to keep his anger at bay.

Jack blinked, frowning with perplexity. “W-What? No…N-No, no, no. Y-You…” He coughed violently, “y-you think - ?” He shook his head, pushing himself up into a standing position and nearly falling over. He quickly steadied himself against the prison bars, his eyelids slipping shut tiredly before reopening them to look at the entity. “Th-This…This isn’t an a-act…” He coughed again, hacking harshly into one of his bloodied palms. “I-I am t-truly sorry, An-Anti…a-and…a-and the c-community…i-if they are th-the ones who…who c-created you…th-then they do care.”

Anti growled. **“Lies.”**

“N-No…No, I-I know them…I-I know w-what they’re like…a-and…” He sucked in a breath, choking on it and heaving into his hand dryly. “u-ugh….mmgh…” He winced before standing up as straight as he could. “t-they do care…Th-Those jokes th-they make a-about you…” He shook his head, “th-they’re just jokes, th-that’s all…I-It’s what th-they do. H-Hell,” He scoffed, “th-they’ve m-made jokes about m-me and…and the others b-before…” He shrugged, licking at the tears that ran over his lips. “I-It’s j-just their w-way of showing th-their appreciation – th-their l-love.” 

He coughed violently, nearly collapsing to the ground at the force of his coughing. He groaned in pain, his legs wobbling as he struggled to remain standing. He looked at Anti with exhaustion. 

“P-Please…B-Believe me…Th-They d-don’t h-hate you, Anti…” He insisted in a pleading tone of voice, a lone tear running down his cheek. He shook his head. “N-No…No one has to get hurt…Y-You c-can…can be happy and l-loved…l-like you were m-meant to be.” He said weakly before sliding down to the ground with a thud, letting out a weak moan.

Through the dark, though his eyes had fallen shut for a brief moment, the Irishman made out a very faint sob. His eyelids were heavy with the longing to stay shut, but he forced them open to see the glitch’s face contorted into one of frustration. There was anger, hatred, and…and sorrow. There was pain – heart-aching pain, tears welling up in the hurt creature’s darkened eyes. His grip on the bars of the cell was so tight, Jack was almost afraid he was going to break them and charge into the cage to slaughter him. Lucky for him, that didn’t happen. His entire body was visibly shaking and not just from how he was glitching out constantly every few seconds. It almost seemed like the poor creature was fighting himself, like he was holding back on something. His bottom lip was trembling as he struggled to keep himself from showing weakness.

 **“R-Really?...Is that so?”** The demon stuttered in a static-laced voice. And though he sounded beyond furious, he couldn’t hide the truth from the Irishman. He was hurting, and it was showing as clear as day. **“Y-You think they all care?”** A small sad smirk tugged at his lips as he outstretched a hand behind him. **“Th-Then how do you explain these?”** And with a snap of his fingers, a patch of darkness dissolved to show endless posts on Tumblr, YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter.

Jack squinted, dragging himself forward in a poor attempt to see well. His eyes widened a tad bit when he realized what each one was about. Every one of the posts was hateful and overly mean towards the glitch, and none of them were in a joking manner, even Jack himself could tell. 

_“Fuck off, Anti! Leave Jack and the egos alone!”_  
_“Go away! We don’t want you here!”_  
_“Look at him – he’s having a temper tantrum. He’s not scary, he’s just complaining about what he can’t have.”_  
_“You people do realize this is all just an act, right? Anti’s not real, get over it.”_  
_“Anti, why the hell are you here?”_  
_“We need to get rid of Anti, guys! It’s the only way we’ll get Jack back! Who’s with me?!”_  
_“Anti, it’s not Halloween yet! Go back to sleep!”_  
_“Glitch Bitch!”_

Every single comment or post was either making fun of the glitching entity or just straight up being hurtful in the worst way imaginable, such as telling him to go away and that he wasn’t wanted – that no one wanted to see him. No one knew it, but every one of the posts hurt the creature to a horrible extent, and Jack couldn’t blame him. He stared at the screen with appalment. These couldn’t be from his community, there was no way. He knew his fans and they were most certainly not this cruel – not towards him or the other egos, at least. And if Anti was their creation, then why the hell would they treat him worse than dirt?

Jack didn’t know what to say, and Anti could tell. He scoffed, the sad smirk still upon his face. 

**“Y-You see? You c-can’t even defend th-them.”** He lowered his arm as the screen materialized, gone forever. **“Th-They don’t care about me…I-I’ve always been j-just a nuisance to them – a-an object for th-them to toy with.”** His form spastically glitched out all of sudden, a projection of him lurching forth; tugging at his head and bawling his eyes out, screaming out in pain. Jack gasped softly, pressing back into the bars behind him. Anti jerked his head. **“I-I…I will n-never be loved…b-because th-that’s not the reason w-why I-I was m-made.”**

The Irishman’s eyes widened with surprise as he watched Anti blink, a lone tear finally falling loose and running down the demon’s cheek. His bottom lip trembled more, having little to no control over his emotions anymore. Another tear fell from his eye.

 **“Th-They d-didn’t make me…b-because they w-wanted a s-son…T-They made me b-because…th-they wanted a m-monster…”** He sobbed softly, his entire form vibrating and giving a violent glitch. And though his body was unstable, the creature’s voice remained rather quiet, like a murmur. He almost sounded human. 

**“Th-They w-want…a v-villain...th-that they can h-hate and f-fear…Th-That’s all they’ve ever w-wanted…f-from the start.”** He shook fiercely, anger starting to come back with a vengeance; his voice becoming much harsher and more distorted. **“S-So…if th-that’s what they w-want…i-if that’s w-what’ll please them…”** He chuckled lightly, another cool tear racing down his face. His sad smirk morphed into a twisted ugly smile. **“Th-Then that’s w-what I’ll give them.”** He shook his head vigorously, licking at the salty tears over his lips. **“N-No more…L-Love is t-truly dead…”** He cackled. **“F-Fear…”** He hummed with bemusement, **“is w-what’ll get th-there attention…p-permanently.”**

He pushed himself away from the bars and growled at himself, roughly wiping his eyes free of any more tears before turning on his heel to storm for the exit. Jack almost immediately scrambled to his feet, gripping onto the bars for dear life so he wouldn’t collapse again.

“W-Wait, wait, wait!” He croaked hoarsely, barely having any voice left in him. He reached his arm out through the cell, hoping Anti wouldn’t leave. There was no telling what the demon would do once he left. Hell, Jack still didn’t even know what Henrik’s fate had been! 

“An-Anti, please!” He coughed dryly, his shoulders shaking. He was beginning to fall incredibly weak again, his eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion and the temperature of the room was only making it worse. “D-Don’t…” He gave one last attempt, one last plea before his knees gave out; collapsing to the ground and passing out cold.

Anti didn’t bother to look over his shoulder at the Irishman. He didn’t even retort back with a snarky taunting remark of sorts, the closest thing being, **“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to.”**

He wasn’t his usual self, and Jack had seen it with his own two eyes. It had been a long while since the entity had had a chance to vent out these painful emotions, but he had no time to lock himself away.

No…He couldn’t lock himself away…

But he could take his hurt out on someone else…


	11. In Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Here it is! I FINALLY got this damn thing done, holy shit X_X
> 
> Firstly, I apologize for just how long it took for this to come out. I was really busy with school and other things the last few weeks, plus I was having a difficult time getting this chapter started. I knew what I wanted to happen, I just didn’t know how to write it all out, you know? 
> 
> Anyway, I’m not going to spoil anything, but holy fuck, I actually sacrificed my sanity writing this chapter. I’m a very squeamish person - I love horror, blood I can handle, and some gore I have my limits, but anything to do with surgical operations and hospitals and organs instantly does NOT sit right with me. I get incredibly upset and disturbed. Now of course there are different types of surgeries, and there are two in particular that scream so much NOPE to me. The first is spinal surgery, which was featured in Part 9 - that made me a squirming mess. The other one - the one I find the worst - is featured in this chapter, and I honestly have NO IDEA how the hell I wrote all of this, I really don’t. This shit is literally from my worst fears, so...
> 
> That being said, **HUGE WARNING:** This chapter is incredibly graphic and gory. In fact, in my opinion, it’s probably going to be the most graphic and horrifying chapter in the entire fanfic, but who knows? There are graphic detailed depictions of surgical operations being performed, as well as certain surgical instruments mentioned. There are moments of abnormal body horror. There are intense, vivid, and horrifying hallucinations. There is a sense of dread and horror throughout, especially nearing the halfway mark onward. A character suffers extreme trauma to the point of heavily intoxicating themselves.
> 
> Honestly, I have no idea how I wrote this, let alone why. This is the most gruesome, disturbing thing I have ever written in all my life, I swear.
> 
> Also, there is foreshadowing in this chapter ;)

_Why are you here?_

Thin beams of sunlight broke through the branches of a nearby tree, casting down over him where he stood. And though it was a rather warm summer day, the green-haired man only felt cold. He stood there out in the middle of the sidewalk, standing before a lovely winter-white house; the sort of which looked like it was right out of a fairy tale. Although all of the other houses appeared to look exactly the same, there was something about this one that stood out amongst the rest, and he was the only one who knew what that reason was.

It wasn’t how the house looked that made it different than the rest; it was who lived inside and what had happened there not too long ago. There had been a fight, a dreadful one. She had yelled at him over and over again like a screeching banshee. She had said that she needed time to think, and being the good husband he was, he had granted her wish. He would go off to work and give her some space. But a month or so later, he received a call while at work, and the words that came slithering out of her mouth constricted his poor heart to the point of shattering it. He had reached a breaking point.

_Why are you here?_

His hands clenched up into fists at his sides, digging his nails into his palms; attempting to block out the memory with sharp pain. He kept his eyes transfixed on the front door, staring at it as though he was expecting it to open at any moment. There were a few children – probably ranging between the ages of four and six – down the street, shrieking with delight as they chased one another. The green-haired man couldn’t hear them over the obnoxiously loud rush of blood in his ears. Whatever was left of his broken heart was pounding violently against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. 

He didn’t like this, not in the slightest. The last time they had spoken to each other it hadn’t been pleasant. They had gotten into the most heated argument they’d ever had, one so ugly and horrendous it had made him shed tears of sorrow. He didn’t want to lose her, he didn’t want to lose the kids. And yet, after that argument, he did something that neither of them would’ve ever expected. There was no way to sugar-coat it – he had shot himself. After hearing his wife go on about getting a divorce and how she wanted custody of the children, he couldn’t bear it. There was some sort of darkness deep within his heart, having been lingering there for some time, and those final words had granted that darkness freedom. Those words had destroyed him once and for all.

_Why the hell are you here?_

On live television, he had put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, attempting suicide. Everything had gone black, and though he had been in recovery in the hospital for over half a month, he was still trying to piece everything together – what had happened after the gunshot and how he had survived. Now, for some reason, here he was, about to see his wife and kids for the first time in what felt like years. And though he knew he should’ve been feeling hopeful and happy to see them again, he didn’t feel any of that. There was only heart-wrenching dread swelling inside his chest, and he couldn’t fully understand why. 

What had brought him here? He had been avoiding this like the plague for the last three months, fearful of what consequences he’d be facing, and yet he had somehow finally worked up the courage to approach the house. He swallowed the lump in his throat and dug his nails further into his palms, wincing at the pain.

_Why the FUCK are you here?_

* * * * *

It was a late afternoon on April 9th when Henrik had found Chase. 

One moment the doctor had been going about his business, handling some paperwork, and the next, there was a loud gunshot that shook the entirety of the void. Almost immediately Henrik had felt his blood run cold as dread settled into his veins. Something had happened to one of the others – he could sense it. Maybe it was his doctor’s instinct, but he knew someone had gotten severely hurt. Schneeple didn’t hesitate in his actions; the man bolted out of his office, weaved his way out of the hospital, and went in search of who had gotten hurt. He ran around aimlessly until he spotted three men, all standing around someone lying in a pool of blood on the ground. His heart stuttered.

Oh fuck, who was it? Who was the man on the ground?

Henrik didn’t even take the time to notice who was standing versus who was on the ground, he instantly rushed over to the group. He stopped dead in his tracks and gasped in alarm at the bleeding out man at his feet. Chase Brody – his dear friend, the one person he was rather close with – laid there in a crippled mess on the floor, staring up at the doctor blankly. There was a penny-sized hole in his right temple, a bullet wound, bleeding out onto the carpet underneath him. His arms were splayed out to either side, and a few inches away from his right hand lay a nine millimeter handgun. The poor man had attempted suicide, but luckily, he wasn’t dead; he was breathing shallowly and Henrik could make out a faint pulse in his neck vein. The doctor barely managed to breathe properly at this discovery.

He wasn’t dead – not yet anyway.

“Jesus Christ. Someone, grab me zee stretcher now!” Schneeple snapped as he dropped to his knees besides the wounded man. 

Without saying a word, the two green-haired men towering over him dashed off to retrieve the stretcher, while the other man – one who was holding a camera – stood there staring down at Chase wide-eyed, looking rather shaken.

“I-I don’t know w-why he did it. I…I can’t understand w-what would’ve caused him to do this.” The man was visibly shaking and he wasn’t blinking. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “I mean, I did notice he was speaking to someone on the phone earlier, and he seemed rather upset. But – But I didn’t think he’d – he’d do something like this!”

Henrik instantly took a glance up at the man. “Vait, vait, hold on, he vas on zee phone vith someone? Who?” 

The man shrugged, his face scrunching up with confusion; trying to recall what he had overheard Chase say to whoever was on the phone. 

“I don’t know, umm…” He let out a huff of air and shook his head, “Something about a divorce and custody of the kids. He must’ve been speaking with his wife.”

“Fuck.” Henrik spat, turning his attention back to the bleeding man. “I should’ve guessed. Alvays moaning and groaning about Stacy. Goddamn it, Chase.”

Henrik stared down at Chase, gently grasping his head and moving it to the side to get a better look at the bullet hole. A very faint groan came from the man.

“Chase? Chase, buddy, can you hear me?” Henrik asked, lightly slapping Chase’s cheek to see if he could get a reaction out of him. There was none. His eyes were fixed onto the doctor, slowly blinking and struggling to focus. Unfortunately, the poor man couldn’t hear a single thing. His gun had gone off right at his temple and as soon as he had pulled the trigger, an ear-piercing ringing deafened him. He hadn’t the slightest idea what the doctor was saying. Everything was fuzzy to him. He was having difficulty keeping his eyes open, his gaze roaming around the room lazily; a very small smile on his lips. The man was in such a daze, he couldn’t really tell what was going on. Henrik slapped him again and gently shook his shoulder.

“Chase, come on. Focus. Focus on me, buddy.” He insisted, forcing the man to face him. The American could only release another groan in response.

“Goddamn it! Vhere is - ?!” 

Before he could say another word, the egos came bursting into the room with the stretcher; coming to a screeching stop where the doctor was crouching over his bleeding friend. Henrik didn’t have to give an order; everyone immediately grabbed onto Chase and gently hauled him up and onto the stretcher. As soon as Chase was laid down, the doctor wheeled him out of the room and bolted for the hospital, not even bothering to take a glance backward. He could hear the others following close behind him.

_“Nein!_ Stay back!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Return to vhat you had been doing! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

The two egos exchanged worrisome glances as Chase’s cameraman spoke up.

“But Doctor, there’s something you need to know. He – .”

“For fuck sake, I don’t have time for any of zhis!”

“Yes, but Doctor, he - .”

“He’ll be alright, I assure you of zhat! I can help him on my own! Now go!”

Without another word, and leaving them behind in the dust, Schneeple barged through the doors of the hospital and darted into the E.R. He didn’t hear what the cameraman muttered as he came to a stop.

“He’s done something horrible.”

* * * * *

Dr. Schneeplestein raced Chase over to the operating table and very carefully moved him from the stretcher onto the table. The wounded man let out a strained groan of agony.

“Don’t vorry, Chase, don’t vorry. You’re going to be okay. Schneep vill save you.” The good doctor reassured before he raced over to his surgical attire; rushing to slip everything on and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

At hearing yet again another weakened sound escape his patient, Henrik returned to his side to get him hooked up to his monitors. He needed to keep track of the man’s vitals before he could even begin operating on him. He stripped Chase of his shirt and applied the electrode pads to his chest, his heartbeat starting up on the nearby monitor. After all of his vitals were clearly showing up on screen, Henrik inspected the wound. He adjusted the overhead light so he could get a better look, knowing all too well that he needed to see just how bad the situation was. Very gently, with gloved hands, the doctor touched the edges of the bloodied hole before checking the other side of the man’s head. There was no exit wound. For a fleeting moment, Henrik could’ve sworn he felt his stomach drop at that realization. 

If there was no exit wound, that meant that the bullet had to be buried somewhere deep inside Chase’s brain. That would mean brain surgery would have to be required. He would have to open up the man’s skull and – 

Henrik shook himself free of that possibility. He’d never performed such an operation on anyone before, and today wasn’t going to be the day to give it a go. Returning his attention to the bullet hole, he reached for a small torch and shined it inside, trying to eyeball just how deep the bullet had gone. He couldn’t see all too much, but he barely made out a faint shine come from inside, like something metallic was glinting back at him. That had to be the bullet he was seeing – what else could it have been? And if that was the bullet, then that meant brain surgery wasn’t going to be necessary. Why operate if the bullet had only managed to get lodged between his skull and scalp? And admittedly, this discovery threw the doctor off. 

Chase had shot himself point blank, hadn’t he? How else would the bullet have ended up here in the side of his head? If he had tried shooting through his mouth, the bullet would’ve been in a completely different location in his head. And no one would’ve shot him because honestly, who would ever want to shoot the man? As far as Schneep could tell, Chase and his cameraman had been close friends, and the poor guy had seemed rather shaken from what he’d witnessed. Plus there was the information about how Chase had been on the phone with Stacy before the incident. Everyone in the void knew just how broken up Chase had been about his relationship with Stacy for the last week or so, but no one – especially not Henrik – would’ve ever thought he’d be pushed to the point of putting a gun to his head.

“Vhat zee fuck vere you zhinking, Chase? Vhat zee _fuck_ vere you zhinking?!” Henrik flared as he looked over the bullet hole. “Vhy zee hell vould you do somezhing like zhis to yourself? I know you vere hurting, I know you and Stacy vere having problems, but you could’ve said somezhing! You could’ve spoken vith someone – you could’ve come to me!” He snapped, locking his eyes onto his patient’s, almost looking at him pleadingly. “I, myself, am going zhrough a hard time vith my family. If zhere’s anyone in zhis godforsaken void zhat vould understand vhat you’re going zhrough, it’d be me!”

Chase couldn’t get out a response – he still couldn’t hear. He could just barely make out the doctor’s face and how his lips were moving, clearly forming words and talking to him, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what the man was saying. All he could do was stare up at the upset surgeon with a vaguely confused expression.

Henrik frowned and pushed away from him with a grunt, grabbing the anesthesia mask so he could knock out his patient. He shook his head in disbelief as he placed the mask over Chase’s nose and mouth, watching him slowly breathe in the gas and his eyelids struggling to stay open. 

“You idiot…Vhy didn’t you come to me?” The doctor said under his breath, looking at his friend sadly.

The anesthesia took over and within a minute, Chase’s eyelids fell shut; falling into a black abyss of unconsciousness. Henrik briefly glanced at the monitors to make sure his patient’s vitals were still going at a steady pace. The American’s heartrate was escalating a tad bit, struggling to keep blood flowing up to his head. His breathing, however, was rather slow and deep, like it should’ve been. Sighing with relief, the doctor turned back to his patient.

If Henrik’s assumption was correct – that the bullet had only gotten stuck in his scalp versus his actual skull – how the hell was that possible? A point-blank shot, especially with the gun Chase had used, should’ve resulted in the bullet travelling in and out of his head, or at the very least should’ve gotten buried deep in his brain. Hell, there were burn marks surrounding the wound and petite pieces of shrapnel scattered about. And yet, from what the good doctor could tell, the bullet hadn’t gone deep at all. Odd.

No matter, Schneeplestein had to act fast. Leaving a bullet inside the man’s head unattended, what with all of the shrapnel as well, would surely result in infection or worse. He wouldn’t have to perform any brain surgery on his patient, but he’d have to dig in and extract the bullet.

Releasing a shaken breath of dread, the surgeon went to quickly retrieve the tools he’d need before collecting them onto a nearby stainless steel table and rolling it over to his side. He reached for a pair of forceps when the light above him flickered. He stopped himself and glanced at the light with puzzlement. What the hell was that for? The heart monitor behind him seemed to glitch out for a brief moment as well. He jerked his head in its direction and frowned. He remembered back to October 29th when he had saved Jack’s life, and the very same things had happened. He shook his head and let out a sigh of agitation. Maybe it was time to get new lights and monitors – clearly these ones were beginning to have some problems.

Brushing the signs off as nothing, the doctor returned back to his patient and grabbed his forceps. He leaned in close to Chase’s temple and slowly and carefully dug them into the man’s head. Small globules of blood ran out of the wound and down the side of Chase’s head, pooling under his head and staining his hair red. It took a moment until he hit anything, and even then, Henrik was afraid that maybe he had been wrong about the depth of the bullet, but once the tips of his forceps came in contact with metal, he let out a breath he’d been keeping in. He turned his head and eyed his scalpel, reaching for it and bringing it up to Chase’s head. He proceeded to cut into either side of the wound before prying open the wound with the forceps; widening it for easier access to the bullet.

His vision pulsed very suddenly, the light above him flickering once more. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, attempting to brush off whatever was wrong with his vision. His heart stuttered violently in his chest right as the heart monitor behind him glitched out once again. And very faintly, barely audible, the German could’ve sworn he made out a gleeful giggle echo around the room. His eyes shot open and he stood up straight, looking around the room wildly as though he was expecting to find someone else there in the room with him. He noticed how the far end of the operating room had suddenly gone dark – all of the lights having shut off for some unknown reason. Brows weaving out of perplexity, the doctor stopped what he was doing, raised a hand to his mask, and tugged it down.

“Hello?” He called out. “Who’s zhere?”

There was no response, nothing but the beeping of the monitors from behind him and the shallow breathing coming from Chase. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any movement or any sign of someone hiding from him.

“I svear to God, I don’t have time for games.” He huffed. “If someone is zhere, please, get zee hell out of here. Can’t you see I’m dealing vith emergency?”

Still no response. After a good long moment of realizing nothing was happening, the doctor readjusted his mask over his face and returned to the task at hand; convincing himself that what he had heard was just his brain playing tricks on him. He stretched the wound open until he found it wide enough, and then blindly grabbed for a pair of retractors to keep the incision open in place while he worked. He took out his small torch and shined the light inside, given how the light above him wasn’t enough to make him see clearly. He could clearly make out the bullet now, buried down and nestled right up against the edge of the American’s skull. Schneeple swallowed. He could only hope there wasn’t any damage to the bone, otherwise he WOULD have to cut the man open and put a plate in his head. Trying to keep his hand as steady as possible, he opened the forceps and inserted them into the wound until they reached the bullet. He closed the tips around the circumference of it and cautiously began to extract the bullet from his friend’s head. 

The overhead light flickered again and with no warning, an ear-piercing ringing shot through his eardrums. Henrik let out a yelp of pain and jumped in alarm, nearly ripping the bullet out of Chase carelessly because of the sudden action. He immediately set down the torch he was using and cupped one of his ears, shutting his eyes tightly and whimpering softly at the dull agony. Slowly, the sound began to die down and fade away into nothingness, but for a fleeting second, the doctor had gone deaf. He couldn’t hear the monitors behind him, he couldn’t hear the faint buzzing of the lights above him, he couldn’t hear his patient – absolutely nothing. That was until he heard someone, or something, chuckle tauntingly directly in his ear. A shiver raced up his spine as he jolted, his eyes shooting open out of fright.

Bad idea.

His vision was swimming, everything in sight appearing in layers, some of it distorted and blurred. He felt dizzy and quite lightheaded, like he was going to fall over. A shaky breath expelled from him as he closed his eyes again, leaning forward and holding his head up with one hand. He shook his head as though he was expecting his brain to smarten up and straighten out his vision obediently. 

_What the hell is going on?_ The German surgeon questioned himself. _Why can’t you focus clearly? Is it because you’re operating on a friend? No…No, it can’t be because of that. You saved Jack before and that had been much worse. So why’s this happening?_

Henrik felt his heart jolt and he gasped at the sudden pain, his eyes flying open. His vision was fine now, and strangely, the lights that had been turned off in the distance had come back on unexplainably. 

_Did you not eat enough earlier? Did you accidentally drug yourself again? Is that it – are you hallucinating all of this?_

There was a loud beeping coming from over his shoulder. The heart monitor was going off – Chase’s heartrate was struggling to remain steady. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time to question what was wrong with himself, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Dr. Schneeplestein picked up the torch he’d been using and positioned it back over the bleeding wound while he slowly pulled the bullet out of his patient’s head. 

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

“Fucking Christ!” The doctor yelped, almost tearing the bullet out and damaging his friend’s insides. 

He shot up straight at hearing the layered voices of which sounded like young children, probably between the ages of six and eight. The lights off by the entrance of the room were out again, except this time is seemed like that entire portion of the room was completely pitch black. He couldn’t see a single thing. He squinted in a poor attempt to see if anything was there.

“Hello? I know someone’s zhere.” He called out towards the darkness. “Vhy don’t you show yourself?”

He didn’t get a reply, but there was a devious giggle again and this did NOT belong to a child. It sounded inhuman and layered, like there were two different entities laughing at both his confusion and growing anxiety. In fact, Henrik couldn’t deny it. He was beginning to get unnerved by what was happening. He felt like he was being watched, like someone – or something – else was there in the room unbeknownst to him, and they were keeping a close eye on him. He didn’t like it. He was growing increasingly more and more uncomfortable, and it was beginning to remind him of how he had felt when he had operated on Jack back in October. He could feel his heart pounding away against his ribcage and his breaths were coming out a tad uneven now. He shook his head and lowered his eyes back down to the open incision, trying to convince himself this was all his imagination. But then it happened again.

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

And again.

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

And again.

_“You’re gonna regret.”_

He lifted his head again and this time, the poor doctor yelped and jumped back in alarm at suddenly making out two figures standing in the shadows; nearly tripping over a few leads and cables down by his feet. He clutched his chest with a bloodied hand, his eyes never leaving the figures; shaky breaths expelling from his lips. From how small they were and how the voices sounded like they belonged to children, he had to assume the figures were exactly that, and given how one had long hair, what looked like a dress on, and how one voice seemed more soft and delicate than the other, he could only imagine that one was a boy and the other a girl. They weren’t moving and he could barely see them at all – he could only make out the faint silhouette of both of them, holding hands. He couldn’t see their faces at all. He blinked with confusion, although fear was also swirling in his eyes.

“H-Hello?” He stuttered. He swallowed hard and stood up straight, letting out a shallow sigh.

_Get a hold of yourself, Schneep. They’re just children._

“Vhat are you two doing here? Are you lost?” He asked in a somewhat calm and collected manner, a small friendly smile coming to his face. 

His eyes fell to Chase bleeding out on the table and he immediately rushed to try and shield the sight from the kids’ eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be here. Zhis is very urgent. You two shouldn’t be seeing somezhing like zhis.” He scoffed. “Vouldn’t vant to give you any nightmares.”

There was an unnerving dead silence flooding the room. Neither one of the children moved, nor did they reply to Henrik. They just stood there like statues in the dark. The German’s smile faltered, getting a tad bit worried now.

“Did you not hear me? You shouldn’t be here. Now please, could you leave? I need to vork on my patient.”

There was still no response from either of the kids. He gulped and tore his gaze away, shaking his head.

“For fuck sake, Schneep, get a grip. You really need to stop drugging yourself. Zhis is getting out of hand.” He chided himself aloud, not seeming to care how there were children in the room.

Figuring that he was only hallucinating and the kids weren’t real, the good doctor went back to work. The bullet was halfway out when he noticed something that caused his heart to stutter. A glob of black sludge bubbled out of the wound and slowly drizzled down Chase’s head alongside some blood. Henrik’s brows furrowed as he dabbed one of his fingertips in it, pulling it back and watching as a thin string of ooze followed. He raised it up and under the light to get a better look at it, not understanding what it was. But he had this gut-wrenching feeling he’d seen it before somewhere, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. 

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

He jumped at hearing that layered voice again, his eyes peering over his glasses to see the children still very much standing in the blackened part of the room. He frowned.

“Vhy do you keep saying zhat? Vhat vill I regret?”

Like before, there was no response. He blinked and shifted his gaze down back at Chase, eyeing the bullet hole. He watched the black sludge leaking out of his head. His heart stuttered at the sight, a feeling of déjà vu washing over him. Where the hell had he seen this before? His eyes shot back to the children, staring at them with question.

“Saving him? Vhy vould I – ?”

_“You’re gonna **regret it.”**_

The doctor audibly gulped. Okay, that time it sounded much harsher, almost like it was a bit of a threat. Their voices sounded distorted – one at a higher pitch with the other getting droned out and rather deep. It was incredibly disturbing to Schneeple, and quite frankly, he was beginning to feel like he was in a dangerous situation. Maybe he should call for one of the others. Would they even hear him though? Marvin was too far off in his part of the void, and Jackieboy Man – he was ALWAYS busy, what with being a fulltime hero and all. The chances of either of them showing up let alone hearing the German doctor were at an all-time low. Henrik licked his trembling lips and parted them to question the kids, only he didn’t get a chance to speak. They decided to speak again, but this time, what they said was different. And it threw the doctor off-guard.

_“You can’t **save** Daddy.”_

Schneeple stood there frozen in place, eyes firmly fixed on the two shadowy figures.

_‘Daddy’? Why would they – ?_

Henrik’s heart gave a painful pang as realization finally settled over him. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at the kids.

“Vha – ? Are you…Are you Chase’s kids?” 

Well that would make sense then, wouldn’t it? Why they were there – they were clearly worried about their father. But…But how would they have known about this? They hadn’t heard the gunshot, had they? And if they had, why show up so late? And how could they have entered the room without making a sound? And why were they strictly staying in the shadows? And why – 

Henrik stopped himself. There were far too many questions going through his head all at once, and the more he thought about them, the more uneasy he was becoming with the kids in the room. He watched the kids uncertainly as he struggled to speak. He was afraid to ask.

“Vhat vill I regret?” He asked in such a soft shaky whisper, he almost thought they hadn’t heard him.

There was nothing but silence for a moment and suddenly, with a blink of his eyes, the figures were nowhere in sight. He blinked rapidly and stood up straight, searching the room for any sign of the kids, but they were gone, completely vanished from existence like they hadn’t ever been there to begin with. The panicked surgeon let out a ragged breath, dropping his head and running a hand over his face, seeming to forget how there was blood on his gloved fingers.

“Vhat zee fuck vas zhat?” He mumbled to himself. 

After taking a good long moment to calm his heart down and get his breathing back in order, the doctor lifted his gaze to stare back out into the darkness. There weren’t any figures – not from what he could tell anyway. And yet, he still felt like he was being watched. 

Fuck.

His hands were shaking ever so slightly, and he couldn’t work like this. One wrong move and there was no telling what’d happen. The head was a very delicate and fragile part of the body after all. The unhinged surgeon let out an exasperated sigh, set his tools down, and stormed over to the counter, outstretching a hand to grab for his bottle of diethyl ether. He froze up on the spot, eyes fixed onto the bottle uncertainly. 

_Don’t do it. You know you shouldn’t. You need to stop drugging yourself, it’s not doing you any good._ His subconscious told him. _Yes, you’re getting nervous and upset, but if you take a swig, it’s not going to help you._

He took hold of the bottle, hesitating to unscrew the cap.

_Don’t do it._

Henrik unscrewed the cap, tossed it to the side, lowered his mask, and took a big gulp of the fluid, giving in to his addiction demon. He knew he shouldn’t have been giving in – he knew that – but he couldn’t help it. He had found that after what happened on October 29th, his secret addiction of ether had slowly gotten worse. Whenever he’d find himself feeling really nervous, upset, or overall emotionally unstable, he’d instantly resort to intoxicating himself and it always managed to calm his nerves down immediately. It wasn’t a healthy solution in the slightest, but he didn’t care. If it worked, then it worked, that’s all that mattered. And right at that moment, he really needed to calm his nerves the fuck down.

Taking the bottle away from his lips and feeling his body beginning to relax, Schneeple let out a sigh and headed back over to his patient; setting the bottle down on the nearby table just in case he’d need another swig. He lazily readjusted his mask, feeling a tad bit sluggish and tired all of a sudden. Yep, the drug was definitely kicking in now. Wonderful.

He took a glance at the monitors to make sure Chase’s vitals were still somewhat stable, and sure enough, they were. Henrik nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips from behind his mask.

“Good, good.” He turned to Chase. “You hear zhat, buddy? It’s all going to be alright.” He said, completely forgetting how his patient was unconscious and couldn’t see nor hear a thing. “Let me just take zhis bullet out of your head, huh? Zhen ve can fix you up.”

He grabbed hold of his forceps and pulled at the bullet, finally extracting it from the American’s head. However, at doing so, his vision gave a violent throb and everything blurred out for a moment. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his line of sight. He was getting awfully tired and relaxed – it had to be the effects of the ether.

The light above him flickered wildly all of a sudden and his vision was going in and out of focus, everything in sight seeming to look like it was all breathing. His eyes widened when he noticed a torrent of black sludge pulse and push out of the hole in Chase’s head as he removed the bullet, a long thick string of it attached to the bullet and getting stretched the more he pulled at it. He nearly gagged at the sight, and almost shrieked when he heard that eerie bone-rattling giggle once again.

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

And then everything went black. The lights and monitors suddenly all shut down at once, causing the entire room to flood with eternal darkness. Henrik couldn’t see a damn thing, and the only thing he could hear was his own unsteady breathing, as well as the loud thudding of his own heart in his ears. What the – ?

And just as quick as it had happened, the light returned. In a blink of an eye, all of the lights and monitors were back on and he could see again…except there was something seriously wrong now.

Chase was still on the table and Schneeple was still hovering over him, but he was now standing behind Chase with the American’s head facing his direction; Chase’s head hanging over the edge of the table but his neck getting supported by a metal frame. There were dotted lines across the man’s forehead – put there by a marker. To his left, there were x-rays of Chase’s head, clearly showing that the bullet had in fact gone deep into his brain and there was swelling inside his brain thanks to the damage done. And to his right, there was a stainless steel table, littered with tools for surgery. 

Tools for brain surgery.

Henrik’s eyes widened in horror, feeling his blood run ice cold as the situation dawned over him. What the hell was going on? Just a moment ago he had been taking the bullet out of Chase’s head, and now, for some reason, he was about to perform emergency brain surgery on the man? Why?! The bullet wound hadn’t been that serious – unless that had all been the real illusion and _this_ was real time. Swallowing hard, Schneeple watched as well as felt as his body turned to the right and grabbed for something on the table, something of which was clearly plugged into a nearby wall. He pressed a button and the ear-shattered buzzing of a saw blade started up. He was holding an electric bone saw and he was about to start the operation. 

Immediately, the German jumped back and let out a gasp of shock…but none of that happened. Nothing came out of his mouth and his body didn’t move, not the way he wanted it to anyway. Furrowing his brows out of puzzlement, the doctor went to jerk his arms or let go of the saw, but nothing was working. It was like his body had a mind of its own and refused to obey its master. Henrik’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he watched himself move the whirling blade to his patient’s forehead, positioning his other hand by the side of Chase’s head to keep him steady. 

Henrik could feel his heart racing wildly deep within his chest, beating away at his ribcage so hard it hurt. And though he clearly wasn’t in any control of his body, he could feel himself trembling all over in fear. He didn’t want to do this, he couldn’t! Yes, he knew the procedure, but he had never done it before, and to do it for the first time ever on a close friend – this was a HORRIBLE idea! What if something went wrong? What if there was too much blood flow? What if he accidentally severed something while removing the bullet? There were too many ways this could go wrong and it was filling the poor surgeon with an insane amount of dread.

It was too late now. Letting out a horrified scream, the doctor watched as the blade sunk into Chase’s head, buzzing louder as it sliced through the skin like butter and finally began to cut into the man’s skull. Blood surfaced and ran down the sides of the American’s head, dripping onto the table. The deeper the saw went, more crimson poured out. Some even managed to spurt up into the doctor’s face, spraying across his mask and glasses. Slowly, Dr. Schneeplestein dragged the blade along the length of Chase’s forehead, the buzzing increasingly in loudness and getting accompanied by a nauseating crunching sound; the blade chewing away at the bone as it went. More blood flew up into the German’s face as he rotated the saw around the expanse of his patient’s head, cutting all the way around. Some blood managed to leak out when he reached underneath Chase’s head, and it dripped on his hand, some running down to the floor in red strings. Henrik thought maybe he was seeing things, but he could’ve sworn the deeper the blade went, there wasn’t just blood coming out. The deeper he went, something black seemed to start seeping out in long gross ribbons. Just like with the blood, this inky sludge was now flying up into the doctor’s face as well and he nearly gagged. The blade actually got jammed and stuck a few times given just how viscous and sticky the stuff was.

The entire top of Chase’s head had finally been cut all the way around, and as soon as that was done, with one hand, the doctor pulled back the saw and flicked it off; setting the blood-soaked, sludge-covered tool on the table. Returning his hand to his patient, Henrik held his breath as he slowly and carefully pulled the top of his friend’s head off and away from his body with extremely gut-wrenching cracking and wet, squishy sounds producing from it. Quite a bit of blood immediately flooded out of the unconscious American’s skull – not enough to kill him but enough to pour to the floor and create puddles at the disturbed doctor’s feet. A torrent of thick black ooze followed after it, raining down in streams. The German surgeon was about ready to vomit at the sight, but what he saw inside Chase’s head immediately made him drop the top portion of his friend’s skull.

The man’s brain was a complete mess. While it should have looked pink and reddened like any ordinary healthy human brain, that wasn’t the case with his. The whole thing was a very dull grey, as if all of the life had been sucked dry from it. All of his veins were blacker than black and were weaved out all over the organ, pulsing with sinister darkness. Very faint moss-green splotches spattered his entire brain, making it look severely infected, and what the doctor at first thought to be black spots dotting the organ turned out to be small holes, pumping black sludge out and oozing all along the brain. There was so much black, so much sludge. And if the doctor didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he was seeing something slither around inside the organ; ooze coming out of any hole the thing would pass by. 

Henrik felt his stomach churn and twist into knots, nausea swirling in his head. His face went whiter than a sheet, all of his blood running ice cold and draining from his face. His vision was starting to throb and spin, and though his insides had gone dead cold, the room felt like it was sweltering hot all of a sudden. His breathing was becoming so uneven, he was beginning to feel faint. He felt like he was going to be sick. This was far too much for him to handle. What the _fuck_ had happened to Chase’s brain? Why did it look like this? What could’ve caused this? This wasn’t something he’d ever seen or heard of before, and as far as he knew, there was no parasite or virus that was capable of doing something like this to someone’s brain. What the _fuck_ was going on?

The good doctor was about to reach for his scalpel and clamp to gently pry open a section of the brain to remove the bullet, but strangely, to his confusion, his body didn’t do that. Instead, his gloved hands reached into the American’s skull, gently grasped the pulsing organ, and began to pull towards him; slowly extracting Chase’s brain. 

NOW he truly felt like he was going to throw up.

Unfortunately for the poor German, he couldn’t do anything to stop the horror; he could only watch as he reluctantly removed his friend’s brain from his head. A torrent of inky sludge poured out and splattered to the white tiling below; strands clinging to the organ and getting stretched as it was pulled out. As soon as it was taken out, Schneeple grabbed his scalpel and severed the brainstem before holding his blackened brain under the light and getting a good look at it. He wiped off a good amount of sludge and then set it aside of a slab nearby, the veins still throbbing strangely even though the whole thing had just been detached from its body. Henrik panted shakily at the disturbance of it all, not at all understanding why he would remove Chase’s brain when all he had to do was take out the bullet. He couldn’t come up with a logical reason as to why he just did what he did.

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

The shaken surgeon nearly jumped out of his skin at hearing the children again. He immediately shot up and stared off into the darkness wide-eyed, instantly spotting the two familiar figures standing in the dark. 

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

He heard something move, and it wasn’t from where the kids were. Henrik jerked his head in the direction of where Chase lay on the table and stared directly into the man’s open, now-hollow skull. The interior of his head was completely bathed in red and black, mainly the lather, and there were small bits of what he could only assume to be brain matter swimming in a thick pool of sludge. He watched it intently, his heart jolting when he noticed the sludge ripple.

_“You’re gonna **regret it.”**_

Henrik went to look back at the kids, hesitating to ask what the hell did they want and why they were repeating the same goddamn words over and over again like that, but he never got the chance to. The man yelped and jumped back in alarm when he saw the sludge move out of the corner of his eye. His attention immediately fell back onto his patient’s gaping skull and to his horror, watched as the sludge began to slowly ooze out of the man’s head like a waterfall. A hand flung up to the German surgeon’s mask-covered mouth, keeping himself from letting out a scream. This sludge – it was moving like it was an actual living thing. 

Taking slow steps backward and never taking his eyes off of it, Dr. Schneeplestein watched as the inky ooze began to stretch and pull, almost like it was struggling to take on a form. He sprung back and nearly slipped in a puddle of ooze as a limb made up of the inky stuff suddenly shot forward. It looked like an arm with seven fingers and a thumb, all of different lengths but all clawed and digging deep into the tiles. A low rumbly groan came from somewhere, and to the doctor’s horror, it was coming from the mass of ooze piled on the floor.

_“Y-You’re gonna **r-regret it.”**_

Henrik didn’t know where to look anymore. He was tempted to take a glance over the children, even though he could barely see them. But given the way their words were getting increasingly more distorted and rather threatening and intense, the man couldn’t help but look off into the darkness.

“Vhat do you vant?!” He demanded, tears beginning to well up in his eyes out of fear. 

There was silence for a brief moment until he noticed the children slowly take some steps forward, finally emerging from the shadows. Henrik’s blood went frozen still in his veins as he choked on a scream.

_“Y-You cAn’t **s-s-save DaDdy.”**_

The kids – their faces…Oh God, their faces. What had happened to them? What the fuck happened?!

_“Y-Y-You cAn’t – You can’t **s-save Daddy.”**_

_“Y-You’re G-Gonna – gonna **r-regret it.”**_

Both of their faces were completely bloodied and mutilated. The boy’s right eye was gone, just one big bloody hole left in his wake. There was what looked like a large gunshot wound in his left cheek, a good portion of his jaw having been blown away. The girl, on the other hand – she had it so much worse. Her entire lower jaw was gone. It looked as though it had either gotten torn off or blown away by a gun. All that was left was a huge maw with torn muscle and flesh hanging loosely, her tongue hanging out with nowhere to go. God only knew how either of them were speaking. Their skin was extremely pale, blue veins lining their bodies and standing out against their dead-white complexion. They may as well have been living corpses – zombies. Henrik could only look on in absolute horror at Chase’s children, not believing his own eyes. He felt icy cold tears escape his eyes as he stumbled backward, yanking the mask away from his face.

“Oh my God! Oh my fucking God, no!” He screamed, shaking his head wildly. “No! V-Vhat – Vhat zee fuck is zhis? Vhy am I seeing zhis?!” 

His screams got interrupted by another loud groan coming from the sludge by Chase’s body. His eyes immediately shot back to the thing writhing on the floor, its clawed fingers stretching out and attempting to pull itself across the floor towards the doctor. The poor man watched, trembling in stone-cold fear, as strings of the ooze began to piece together and form a faceless human-like head. Another arm sprung up from the mass, reaching forward and dragging itself along the ground. The thing lifted its head and faced the direction of where Schneeple was. A low sinister hiss came from the creature, a portion of its jaw caving in and stretching like a mouth; a howl of anger coming out of it.

_“Y-You’re gonna **R-REgrEt it.”**_

This was too much. This was far too much. Henrik was a quivering, sobbing mess at this point. He jumped back and screamed when the creature suddenly surged forward, its entire form seeming to glitch out before the doctor’s own eyes as it began crawling towards its victim. 

_“Yo-You’re goNnA **R-RegREt i-i-it.”**_

_“You c-c-ca-an’t **S-SaVe daddy – save Daddy.”**_

The poor doctor slipped on a puddle of blood and crashed to the ground, his breaths coming out laboured and shaky. He struggled to move away from the thing, kicking his feet only then to let out a horrified scream when he felt it dig its claws into his leg. He cried and writhed in pain as he watched the thing jerk and twitch unnaturally towards him, a static-laced growl coming from it as he crawled over top of him.

_“You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it. You’re gonna regret it.”_

_“YoU’rE gOnnA **regret – .”**_

_“YOu’Re GoNna **reGrEt – .”**_

_“YoU’Re **GOnnA – .”**_

_“YOu’Re **gOnNa – .”**_

_**“YOU’RE – .”** _

Henrik shut his eyes tightly and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

And suddenly, everything stopped. The children weren’t speaking anymore. There were no more growls and groans coming from the creature. He didn’t even feel the pain of the thing’s claws in his leg. Hesitantly, Schneeple opened his eyes, one before the other.

He was where he had been from the very start. He was standing over Chase, who was laid out on the operating table; bullet wound pulled open with the bullet pulled halfway out. Chase’s head was perfectly fine other than that. His skull hadn’t been cut open, his severely infected brain wasn’t on a slab somewhere. There wasn’t any blood, black sludge, or gore on the floor crawling towards the doctor, and the mangled children who had been Chase’s kids weren’t in the room either. 

None of what Henrik had just gone through had been real.

The poor German, he couldn’t stop shaking. His eyes were blown wide with terror, darting around the room wildly, trying to decipher if this was truly real time and that the nightmare he had just endured hadn’t been real. He did a double-take when he spotted his bottle of ether on the table beside him. Almost instantly, with a trembling bloodied hand, he grabbed the bottle, pulled his mask away from his face, and chugged more than half of the contents. He slammed it down when he figured he’d had enough. He shut his eyes tightly and whimpered, clutching his head with one hand, hoping like hell the drug would kick in, and make him relax. It took a tad longer than what he would’ve liked, but within a couple of minutes, the drug began to take its toll and he managed to let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

He reopened his eyes and focused onto the wound in Chase’s head. He took a glance over his shoulder to check the man’s vitals. He was still fine, nothing extremely bad to worry about. Releasing another held-in breath, Henrik passed a hand over his face before he returned to the task, finally removing the bullet from Chase’s head, as well as the bits and pieces of shrapnel that were encrusted into his flesh and muscle. He chucked all of that away, sutured up the gaping hole, and gently cleaned the entire wound; washing away any and all blood that had gotten all over the American. Last but not least, he went and retrieved a blood bag and hooked the man up to it, infusing new blood into him, given just how much he had lost. One last time, Henrik turned to check the monitors to make sure everything was alright. His vitals were slowly but surely returning to a normal pace. Schneeple nearly laughed at knowing he had yet again managed to save a patient from death.

Henrik turned to Chase and lightly patted him on the shoulder.

“Vhat did I say? I told you zhat you’d be alright.” He couldn’t help but smile at that. He let out a shallow sigh. “Now zhen, let’s get you into more comfortable room, huh? One less sticky and bloody.”

He was about to move to unhook Chase from the monitors when he halted his actions. Maybe he should wait awhile, just to make sure his friend was truly going to be okay. Thinking that’d be a good idea, Henrik stepped away from the American, headed over to the chair behind his desk, and slid down into it with exhaustion. He sat there, slumped in the chair, still in his blood-spattered surgical cap, gloves, and smock, clearly not giving a damn. He was more concerned about Chase.

His eyes were tiredly fixed onto his recovering patient, worry gleaming in his eyes. His vivid hallucinations played out in his head over and over again like a broken record, trying to figure out why exactly he had seen all of those nightmare-inducing things. He could barely think clearly about it all right now – his brain was getting fogged up by the ether he had drunk. Feeling himself falling, the good doctor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he let sleep take over him. 

Before he did, four words came to him. 

Four words were hissed directly into his ear and threatened to destroy his dreams.

Four words he would surely never forget.

_“You’re gonna regret it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding this in case anyone got confused. Anti doesn’t show up at all in this chapter. Yes, the hallucinations Schneeple experiences are caused by Anti toying with his mind, but Anti himself doesn’t show up. He’s not possessing the doctor and he’s not pretending to be Chase similar to how he pretended to be Jack in Parts 6 and 8. Just letting you all know that.
> 
> Also, the first part is what's happening presently - a day or two after August 3rd - while the rest of the chapter is a flashback to April 9th when Chase shot himself. Just making that clear if anyone got confused. Part 12 will be a continuation - all a flashback showing Chase in recovery - while Part 13 will return to the present to show us what happened and where he is now.


	12. Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, Happy Halloween everyone! :D I hope you’re all having a fantastic day/night. I know I am. It’s my favorite holiday and as such, I figured I’d try and get a chapter or two done in time for today, so here you go!
> 
> Surprisingly, I’m not going to add any warnings for this one (and yes, you should be worried if there’s nothing bad happening in this chapter). Of all of the chapters in the story, this one has to be the most tame. There isn’t any gore, and while there is some angst, it’s nothing compared to what has already happened in the story. Not a lot happens in this chapter - it’s more dialogue based than anything - but it is crucial to what’ll end up happening next. Consider this chapter like a break for you guys - it’s giving you guys a chance to breathe and get yourselves mentally prepared for what’s to come in the last couple of chapters. Because believe me, when I release Part 13…ha…haha…..hahaha…hahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! >:D
> 
> Consider this your warning!
> 
> Enjoy!

Useless – that’s exactly how he felt. Completely and utterly useless.

He hadn’t a clue where he was right now, not when he was currently swimming in a never-ending sea of darkness. Everything was black in his wake; how was he to know where he was or what was going on if the shadows were blinding him? All he had to go off of were the horrid noises that were causing his blood to run ice cold. 

These sounds – they were haunting. He felt as though there was significance to each and every one, like he had heard them before somewhere at some point. Gun shots were blaring, sounding as though a mass shooting was taking place. The horrific screams of innocent people echoed throughout this darkened hell he was encased in – every single one of them begging and pleading for their lives.  And it wasn’t just adults who were getting harmed, children were as well. He could tell from the pitch of the cries for help, as well as the terrified whimpers and sobs that accompanied them.

What was going on? Why couldn’t he see anything? Why was he hearing these nightmare-inducing things? He felt so helpless – so weak and scared. He may not have been able to see what was going on, but he had an idea and it was sending tremors of fear down his spine. He wanted to do something, he wanted to save these people and try and stop whoever was responsible for the massacre. But he couldn’t do anything, not when the dark had a hold on his mind and soul. He longed to yell out into the endless abyss and put an end to this hell. However, he couldn’t. All that expelled from his lips were his own laboured shaky breaths of panic, increasing in speed as his heart followed suit. The poor organ was beating away at his ribcage so brutally his chest was beginning to ache. The rush of blood in his ears pumped so loudly to the point of blocking out the screams of the murderer’s victims.

All he could hear now was the rush of blood.

And all he could feel was something moving…

Something was moving inside of him. 

He could feel something squirming and slithering around, resonating inside his head and slowly making its way down his spine, weaving throughout his entire body. An overwhelming sensation surged through him, bringing new life to his being. He gasped as his vision pulsed, a very brief glimpse of figures illuminating before his eyes. With each released breath, a flash of his surroundings would occur, but not for long. Everything was still very much blacker than black, but the figures around him – they were all glowing. It was almost as if he had some kind of sonar or sensory overload all of a sudden. However, there was something incredibly disturbing about this newly acquired “gift of sight”. 

Everything that was highlighted – the victims, anything in the background such as trees and parked cars, the shooter, who for some strange reason was a completely blurred out manifestation – was blood red. With each pulse of his vision, thin lines of red produced from them all; branching out in every which direction, slowly but surely fogging up his brain with nothing but bloodshed. He could hear his laboured breaths dying down into demented, inhuman laughter. He could feel his body tensing up, his hands balling up into fists. He is holding something in his right hand. There’s a faint clicking sound. His index finger – it’s resting on a trigger, hesitating to add pressure. His hand is shaking – from fear, anger, sadness, who knows? But he can feel it in his gut. There’s a horrendous sense of dread manifesting deep inside of him, growing in size at an alarming rate and constricting his lungs tightly. And yet…And yet he needs to do this.

He WANTS to.

All he sees is red as he raises the gun, another jolt of adrenaline striking him like a bolt of lightning. His vision throbs black for a second – a set of sickly green eyes and a deathly white grin piercing through the eternal darkness – but it appears so quickly, he barely has the time to process the image.

His fingertip is starting to apply pressure to the trigger, tempted to put an end to this.

He makes out faint laughter in the back of his mind, taunting him and hissing insidious truths to him repeatedly to the point of driving him insane. He growls and yells out in distress, bashing the gun against his head violently in a desperate attempt to block out this evil that’s pestering him. But there’s no point. He’s going to give in and he knows it. He KNOWS it.

His heart stutters, skipping over a couple of beats. He pulls the trigger as he hears the terrified cries of his children.

All he sees is red. Blood red.

He’s covered in it.

There’s so much of it – so much red. 

And this thing inside of him, whatever it is that’s swimming through his veins – it’s pleased. It’s grinning with delight, knowing he’s made a right.

And the worst part is he believes this.

Body jolting with a start, Chase’s eyes flew open and he gasped in alarm, getting forced out of the horrifying nightmare he’d just had. Almost immediately a searing pain channeled through his head and he groaned, shutting his eyes tightly for a second. He hesitantly reopened them, staring up at a cream-colored ceiling. He felt incredibly tired and out of it, and he could very vaguely make out the soft beeping of a heart monitor coming from somewhere off to his right. Brows furrowing out of puzzlement, the American slowly turned his head in the direction of where the sound was coming from and spotted a heart monitor a foot away from the bed he was settled in. He blinked in confusion and glanced down at himself, finally taking notice of where he was. He was tucked under blankets in what looked like a hospital bed, and he was wearing a gown, having been stripped of his grey T-shirt and black skinny jeans. He was hooked up to an IV, as well as the heart monitor, and there was a nasal cannula wrapped over his head, supplying oxygen for him. 

His right temple throbbed sharply and he winced, clenching his teeth and letting out a hiss of agony. What had happened? Why was he in the hospital? Had the doctor brought him here? And if he had, why? Chase shut his eyes and tried to recall the events that had taken place before he had woken up, but everything was a blur. All he could remember was how he had been given permission from Jack to have some screen time on the channel, and thus, he and his cameraman immediately set out to record a video of him doing some sick shots. Everything after that had gone black – he hadn’t the slightest idea what would’ve led him into getting admitted to the hospital. And as if he didn’t already have enough questions on his mind, he couldn’t help but get haunted by visions of what he’d seen and heard in his nightmare. What had that all been about?

He released a groan of frustration as he blinked tiredly. He was far too drained of energy to be putting up with thoughts like these right now. 

Sharp pain panged against his skull horribly once more, worse than before, and he whimpered, reflexively lifting a hand up to gently touch the side of his head. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, blood staining the right side of them. The fabric was slightly warm and damp and question fell upon him. What – 

“Ah, look who decided to vake up.”

The green-haired American nearly had a heart attack at hearing the German voice. He jolted and his eyes darted to the door to see Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein standing there, clipboard in hand and a petite hopeful smile upon his face. Chase let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in. He hadn’t heard the door open; he’d been too caught up in his own questions.

“Doc?” He questioned, his voice soft and giving proof of just how tired he was. How long had he been out for?

The doctor only smiled and nodded in response, turning to close the door behind him. A dull ache came from Chase’s right temple and he gasped, moving his hand to touch the bandages once again. He went to move, going to give a try at sitting up, but his vision instantly began to swim and the ache he felt in his head only grew worse. He winced and groaned in agony as he heard Schneeple approach the bed.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t do zhat.” He saw the doctor out of the corner of his eye, feeling his hand gently push on his shoulder and insist he lay back down. “You’re in very bad condition. Ve vouldn’t vant it getting any vorse.”

Chase let out a defeated sigh as he settled back down onto the bed, taking his hand away from his head. 

“It’s best zhat you take it easy. No need to strain yourself.”

Chase blinked groggily before turning his attention up onto the doctor. His brows furrowed in confusion, tearing his eyes away as he struggled to conjure up the memories of what had happened.

“What…What happened? Where am I?” 

The smile from Schneeple’s face fell away immediately.

“You know vhere you are, Chase.”

“Yeah, but…but what happened?” The American asked. His eyes shifted back to the German. “Why am I here?”

Now it was Henrik’s turn to be overcome by question. He frowned, staring at his patient with perplexity.

“Vait, you…you don’t remember vhat happened?” He inquired.

Chase shook his head, eyes locked with the good doctor’s. Henrik knew Chase quite well – they were really close friends, actually. They got along and were always there for each other. Henrik KNEW Chase. He knew the man was a child at heart and would never keep any secrets from him. So when he looked deep into his friend’s eyes, he could only see innocence gleaming in them, accompanied with a hybrid of fear and confusion. Chase wasn’t lying to him – the doctor knew this for a fact. Chase would never lie to him, especially if it involved something as serious as this. The German’s eyes narrowed before he glanced down at his clipboard, flipping over the top page and scanning through his notes quickly. His expression only became more puzzled. He peered over the edge of his glasses back at his recovering patient. He shook his head slightly.

“You don’t remember anyzhing – anyzhing at all?”

Chase took a moment to really think and try his hardest to bring about the memories that were seemingly long-lost, staring off into space, but nothing was coming to him. No matter how hard he tried, everything was remaining a blurry mess. He couldn’t even recall anything that he had heard or felt. He most certainly didn’t remember getting a head wound either. He shook his head again, returning his tired gaze to the doctor.

“No…No, I don’t remember anything.” He blinked, his brows weaving out of worry now. “What happened, Doc?”

Henrik stood there for a long minute, alternating between taking looks at his clipboard and his dear friend. He didn’t know if telling him the truth right at this very moment was the best idea. After all, Chase had just woken up. The man was dazed and drained – he had little to no energy at all. The news may have been incredibly important, but the American needed rest more than anything. If Schneeple told him, there’d be no telling how he’d react. The last thing he needed was for Chase to be stressed out…and yet…

The German doctor turned and set his clipboard down on a nearby table, avoiding having to make eye contact with his patient.

“You shot yourself, Chase.” He wasn’t going to sugar-coat it – how could he with something as serious as that? “You…You shot yourself, zhat’s vhat happened.”

A wave of heart-wrenching silence flooded into the room and it remained lingering there for what felt like hours. He could make out the shaky uneven breaths of his patient, only proving to him that the man honestly didn’t know what he’d done.

“What?” Chase’s voice cracked, evidently letting some of his fear slip through.

Henrik whirled around to face him, staring at him sternly. He was breathing rather deeply now and his jaw was locked tight. It seemed as though he was struggling to keep his emotions at bay. He didn’t want to get angry at his friend, especially with just how weak and disoriented he was, but Schneeple couldn’t bear it. He was hurt and pissed off and he couldn’t hide that from Chase.

“You heard me. You tried to blow your brains out, Chase. Vhy? Vhy zee fuck vould you do zhat? Vhy zee _FUCK_ vould you do somezhing like zhat?!” The mad man slammed a fist down violently on the nearby table, the loud bang causing Chase to jump and widen his eyes in surprise.

“I…I don’t – .”

“Your cameraman, vhatever zee fuck his name is, said you had been on zee phone vith Stacy before zee incident. Somezhing about you two getting a divorce and her getting custody over zee kids?”

Chase could only stare at the doctor with confusion. Everything he was saying wasn’t making any sense to him. Had that all really happened? Had he been on the phone with Stacy? Had Stacy said those things to him? His heart clenched tightly in his chest and he suddenly found himself having a difficult time breathing properly, as though there was a weight pressing down on his chest and crushing his lungs. He heard Henrik scoff.

“I should’ve known Stacy vould’ve been your undoing, but Chase, vhy? VHY?! Vhy zee FUCK vould you resort to somezhing so drastic – so horrible and selfish?” The doctor continued on with his rant. “I mean, I get it. I knew – VE all knew zhings veren’t going so vell between you and Stacy. Ve knew you vere going zhrough a hard time and you never vanted to talk about it vith any of us. You like to zhink everyzhing is happy and vonderful and perfect. Everyzhing in your mind is perfect, even vhen everyzhing goes to shit. So vhy?” He glared daggers at the perplexed man. “Vhy vould you resort to suicide, Chase? Vhat zee fuck could’ve possibly made you zhink zhat vas zee only reasonable solution?!”

The American’s heart constricted again and he tore his gaze away from the doctor, shutting his eyes tightly as he struggled to take out the wall that was keeping his memories from him. Slowly but surely, fragments were coming to him. Nothing major, but the things his friend was saying were most certainly triggering him.

“You know me, Chase. You know me and I know you. Ve have been friends for some time now, ve never keep secrets from each other. If you vere hurting, if zee pain was getting to you zhat badly, vhy didn’t you say anyzhing? Vhy didn’t you come to any of us – vhy didn’t you come to me?!” Henrik shouted. And although the German was furious and lashing out at him, when Chase turned to look up at him, he could see pain as clear as day swirling within the doctor’s eyes. It was leaking into his words as well. 

“You KNOW me, Chase. Vhat, did you zhink you vere zee only one going zhrough hell?” Henrik leaned forward a bit, never taking his eyes off of his friend. “My vife and kids left me months ago for someone else. Zhey don’t vant anyzhing to do vith me. Zhey zhink I’m a failure. I haven’t seen zeem in vhat has seemed like ages.” He shook his head and bit his bottom lip, turning his gaze away and trying to stave off any tears from coming to his eyes. After a brief moment to collect himself, his eyes fell back onto Chase and this time, the American could see the tears welling up. “You zhink you’re zee only one in pain? Bullshit.” He spat.

Chase searched his eyes, his mouth hanging open agape. He had never seen Henrik this angry and this hurt before. Yes, he knew things hadn’t been well for the German and his family, but Henrik rarely spoke about just how much it had all been tearing him up inside. Chase licked his lips and went to speak, but he didn’t get a chance – Henrik carried on with his spiel.

“Did you not zhink about anyone else vhen you put zhat gun to your head? Did you not once _zhink_ about zee consequences of vhat the effects vould’ve been on any one of us? Did you not zhink about Marvin, Jackieboy Man, or Jack? Did you not zhink about vhat your death vould’ve done to any of zhem? For fuck sake, vhat about your children? Zhey still love you, Chase, and you had no problem putting a gun to your head and pulling zhe trigger – during a recording, no less?! Jesus fucking Christ, Chase – vhat zee fuck vas going zhrough your head?!” 

Chase didn’t know what to say. He was at a loss for words. He could very vaguely remember parts of what had happened – like how he had been on the phone with Stacy, how he’d been filming a video with his cameraman and his friend, Chad – but everything else was still all indecipherable. He couldn’t recall having ever shot himself, let alone come up with a good enough reason as to why he would’ve been driven to such an over-exaggerated reaction to his wife’s words. None of this made any sense to the poor man. He could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. He was so horribly confused and he wished he could remember exactly why he had done what he’d done. He watched his friend look away from him and stand up straight, struggling to calm himself down and keep himself from crying.

“Vhy?” He asked in such a soft voice, Chase barely even heard it over the beeping of the heart monitor. The doctor glanced back at him, nothing but hurt and sadness shining in his eyes. The anger was long gone now. “Vhy didn’t you say anyzhing?” He said in a pleading tone, desperately wanting an answer.

Chase shook his head and struggled to speak up. “I-I don’t know. I don’t remember shooting myself, I don’t, I - .” 

He felt a tear run down his cheek and he tore his gaze away from Henrik. He shook his head again and gave a very nervous chuckle before eyeing the doctor. 

“I don’t know why I would’ve done such a thing, man, I don’t. I really don’t.” He sniffled. “I mean, I vaguely remember speaking with Stacy, and yeah, things have been absolute shit between us. But…” His brows furrowed. “But trying to kill myself?” He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, eyes roaming the room. “Fucking Christ, man…” Another lone tear raced down his face as he closed his eyes. He reopened them, staring up at Henrik with sadness. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Henrik huffed and pulled his glasses away to wipe at his teary eyes. “As you should be.” He let out a breath as he put his glasses back on. “You should consider yourself lucky. If I hadn’t found you in time, you probably vouldn’t have made it.”

Chase sighed deeply in an attempt to relax his nerves. He sniffed and wiped his eyes clear of tears. He went to open his mouth and question the doctor on how bad the gunshot had been, when suddenly the door burst open and rushing in came a familiar green-haired man with a look of panic clear across his face.

“Alright, what happened?! Where’s - ?!” Immediately, Jack’s attention shifted to the American lying in the bed, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Chase! Jesus Christ, you’re alive!” And without another word, he bolted to the man’s side and pulled him into a tight hug.

Chase winced at feeling his head throb when the Irishman went to hug him, the pain sharp and excruciating to the point he wanted to yelp. He let out a whimper and that was Schneeplestein’s cue to step in. He set a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Take it easy zhere. He’s just starting to recover; ve don’t need him getting any broken bones.”

The Irishman made out another pained whimper leave the ego he had his arms around and instantly pulled away.

“Oh jeez, sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Chase coughed and waved a hand at him, brushing it off as nothing. “Nah, bro, it’s cool.”

“It’s not ‘cool’, Chase. You call zhat ‘cool’?” Henrik pointed at the bloodied bandages around the American’s head.

Jack turned to look at the German doctor, a look of shame coming upon his face.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late. I came as fast as I could.”

“It’s quite alright, don’t vorry about it.”

Jack’s eyes widened with bewilderment. “Don’t worry about – ? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He took a brief glance at Chase. “What happened? I mean, I had felt something was wrong with one of you guys, but fuck, I didn’t think it was _this_ bad.” He let his eyes fall back onto Chase, more specifically his right temple.

“You vant to know vhat happened?” Henrik motioned at Chase with an expression of annoyance. “Zhis idiot tried to blow his brains out, ZHAT’S vhat happened.” He then went on to grumble a few obscenities under his breath about his friend’s stupidity.

The Irishman’s face went white as a sheet as he cocked his head in Chase’s direction. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

“You did what?” He didn’t sound angry, like Henrik had been. He was more so stunned and horrified. “Chase…”

Chase wasn’t looking at either of the men; he had his attention elsewhere, his facial expression reading nothing but shame. Jack shook his head, refusing to believe such a ludicrous thing. Chase was a lively lovable man, it was VERY rare for him to ever feel down or get upset. The Irishman couldn’t even imagine him attempting suicide.

“No…No, that can’t be true.” He turned back to the doctor. “Surely you must be joking.”

But the look upon Schneeplestein’s face was cold and solemn, no hint of a smile or glee in sight. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat, hesitant to ask.

“Why?” He honestly didn’t want to know what could’ve driven his friend over the edge.

“Stacy” is all that Henrik had to say for the YouTuber to understand. Jack returned his attention back to the man in the hospital bed, who was still pretending like both of the men weren’t there in the room talking about him. Jack neared the bed, his expression softening; knowing Chase was probably already going through his own personal mental hell at the moment.

“Chase, why would – ?”

“Save it, dude.” Chase held up a hand to cut off his words. “I don’t want to hear it. The doc here already chewed me out; I don’t need you giving me hell too.” He sounded a tad bit agitated.

Jack took a glance at Henrik to verify and the German doctor gave a nod. “It’s true; I gave him shit for it before you showed up.”

The YouTuber looked back at Chase with worry and stepped forward to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Chase, what’s going on?” 

Chase finally turned his head to look at his friend, his expression morphing into one of uncertainty and sorrow. He stared at Jack for a long moment, took a glance at Henrik – who was standing right behind Jack with his arms crossed – and then looked back at the Irishman. His eyes wandered as he expelled a breath, slowly shaking his head.

“Look, I’ll admit it. Things between Stacy and I haven’t been so great for the last month or so. She wanted some space and I gave her that. I was a good husband and father; I gave her and the kids exactly what they needed.” He returned his gaze to his friend – his creator. “And what does she do? She phones me up while I’m working and decides to drop a bomb on me right there and then.” He said with hurt apparent in his voice. “She goes on about how I’m too careless and immature, that I’m a child and am a danger to the kids. She wants to get a divorce and plans to take the kids away from me, and she doesn’t want me around them ever again.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming from him as though it was all a joke to him. “Who does that?”

Henrik sighed with exasperation, running a hand over his face, while Jack seemed to be more sympathetic.

“Chase, listen. I’m sorry for the way things have worked out, I really am.”

“I love her, bro.” The poor man, he truly sounded heartbroken. His baby blue eyes were filled with anguish; he gave off the appearance of a kicked puppy. “I mean, I _really_ love her – her and the kids. I can’t lose them, Jack. They mean too much to me.”

“And that just might be your undoing there, Chase.” The Irishman admitted sourly. He released a sigh at seeing the American’s horrified expression. “Listen, I know you love her, Chase – we all do. You’ve always had a big heart, but while that is your greatest strength, it might also be your greatest weakness. You get a bit,” He stopped himself, taking a moment to choose the proper wording, “clingy at times. That’s not necessarily a bad thing!” He quickly reassured, not wanting to bring Chase down even more. “But sometimes, people need space, and maybe…maybe that’s all Stacy needs. She just needs space.”

Chase still looked doubtful and like he was in pain – both physical and mental. Jack leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed onto his friend. He was hoping he’d look at him and believe his words.

“Look, Chase, you need to face the cold-hard truth: Stacy has been taking a toll on you for quite some time and you need to let her go.”

At hearing this, the American immediately went to object, shaking his head slowly. “No, no, I can’t, I – .”

“I know you love her, but Chase, really think about this. Everything you two have been going through for the past month has led up to where you are now.” Jack pointed out. “You’re developing an unhealthy obsession for her and it needs to stop – for your sake, as well as your children’s.”

“N-No, no, you’re wrong, you’re – .”

“Oh for fuck sake, Chase, enough of zhis cowardice crap already!” Schneeple unexpectedly lashed out, throwing both his creator and his friend completely off-guard and making them both jump.

Jack frowned, having not expected the doctor to snap and be so harsh.

“Henrik – .”

“No, he needs to hear zhis, Jack. He needs to face facts and zhere’s no better time to do zhat zhan right now. I mean, look at him!” The mad doctor shot an arm out, motioning at his patient. “Look at vhat all of zhis did to him! He nearly died, Jack!”

Before the Irishman could even begin to get a response out, the German locked eyes with the emotionally abused man lying in bed.

“She’s all you’ve been moaning and groaning about over and over again. You’ve been sounding like a broken record! Stacy zhis and Stacy zhat. Enough is enough, Chase! You keep complaining about how zee relationship is going and yet you’re not doing anyzhing to fix it; you’re standing off to the sidelines, hoping a miracle vill happen.” Henrik spat, the truth coming out rather harsh. He knew it was all getting to the man and hurting him further, but he had had enough of seeing his friend in such a wounded mental state. He was doing this for his own good.

“You’ve been avoiding her like zee plague, Chase. You’ll speak to her over zee phone, but God forbid you von’t actually go and see her in person.”

“But I can’t.” Chase said. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Fuck zhat! Zhat’s not an excuse!” The doctor snapped. “She may not vant to see you, but you clearly do, and zee only vay you two are going to be able to vork zhings out is if you go to her and speak to each ozher, face to face, like normal adults.” 

Chase stared at him for an agonizingly long minute, a feeling of melancholy swelling deep within his already broken heart. He couldn’t deny the truth. Henrik was right; he had been avoiding the main problem for a long time now. He would only ever talk to Stacy over the phone, never in person. He was fearful of what consequences he’d face if he were to ever see her again – what she would say and how she’d say it. She had already torn holes into him every time they spoke to each other. He didn’t know how much more he’d be able to take, let alone just how much worse it’d get.

Jack took a brief glance at Henrik, biting his lip before proceeding to look at Chase.

“He’s right, Chase. You’ve been avoiding Stacy for some time now and it needs to stop. You two need to get together and work things out face to face – that’s the only way all of this pain you’re feeling will go away. And if things don’t work out,” He sighed softly and shrugged, “then you’re just going to have to accept that. Sometimes, things aren’t always the way you’d hoped they’d be, Chase. Believe me on this.” He said with as much sincerity as he possibly could, hoping like hell he’d gotten his point across. 

Chase kept his attention fully on the Irishman, taking in his words of advice and running it all through his head. He really didn’t want to lose Stacy or the kids, but the guys had a point – he did have a problem and the only way it’d get solved is if he went and faced his wife. Henrik stepped forward, searching Chase’s eyes for any sign of understanding.

“Chase, please. Promise me you vill go and see Stacy and vork zhings out.”

“Doc, I don’t – .”

“Chase…I haven’t seen my vife and kids in over six months.” There was a tremor of heartache and what almost sounded like regret in his voice. “I made many mistakes in zee past, so many of vhich I regret. I’m still trying to make up for zhem and make zhings vork, but no matter vhat I do, my family doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m nozhing to zhem.” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t make zee same mistakes I did.” His tone of voice was firm, and although it was that way, it came out sounding desperate, like he was pleading the man to make things right.

The American could feel the pain radiating off of the doctor and it was suffocating. His brows weaved together out of sorrow, pitying his friend and wishing there was something he could say to cheer him up. He could feel Jack’s eyes boring into him and it made the man give him his undivided attention.

“Chase, please, promise me – promise us – that when you have fully recovered, when you leave this hospital, you will go and see Stacy.” The Irishman was staring intently at the ego, wanting him to make a promise here and now that’d he do exactly what was expected of him. He couldn’t afford to have one of the egos become damaged beyond repair.

Chase sighed deeply and looked anywhere but at Jack, doubt and anxiety corrupting his mind. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I – .” His voice trembled ever so slightly, coming off like a nervous child afraid to confront their worst fear.

“Chase…”

After letting his eyes wander around the room once, the American locked eyes with the YouTuber.

“Promise you will see her.”

He could feel both Jack and Henrik’s eyes boring into him, waiting impatiently for his answer. And although he wanted to say no, he knew there was only truly one right answer. He looked away, feeling defeated and giving a pitiful nod in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll…I’ll at least consider it. I’ll give it some thought – some REAL thought, okay?”

That was better than nothing; no point in pushing him any further, especially with just how tired the American was beginning to look. His eyes were struggling to stay open now, sleep threatening to take him under once again. Dull pain throbbed in his right temple and he winced, a soft hiss slipping through his teeth. Henrik patted him on the shoulder.

“Alright, vell, don’t zhink about it too much right now. Right now, you need to rest. Vith an injury as bad as yours, you’re going to need as much as possible. Now go to sleep.” He turned his attention to the Irishman. “Jack, could I have a vord vith you outside please?”

“Of course.” The YouTuber stood up from the bed and went to head for the door before taking a glance back at Chase. He gave a playful scowl. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I don’t need any of you guys dying on me anytime soon.”

Chase’s eyes had already fluttered closed, but a small smile played at his lips at hearing what his close friend had to say. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Henrik gently nudged his shoulder. “I’ll be right outside if you need anyzhing.” He reassured before heading over to Jack, both of them exiting the room. He closed the door behind them as they left.

From out in the hall, the German doctor stood in front of a window, looking into the room he’d just left and watching Chase fall asleep. Jack was by his side, but his attention wasn’t on Chase, it was on Henrik. 

“Alright, what is it? What do you need to talk to me about?” He asked, crossing his arms and taking glances back into the recovery room. “It’s about Chase, isn’t it?”

Schneeple didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked on Chase with a look made up of concern and confusion on his face. Jack’s eyes narrowed, not liking the odd silence or the focused expression Henrik was wearing. That look on his face was the very same one reminiscent of a doctor about to tell a set of parents that their child had just died. The Irishman shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

“Henrik?”

The German dropped his head and sighed deeply, moving a hand up to pull away his glasses while his other hand passed over his face, evidently stressed out from whatever it was that was on his mind. 

“I don’t know vhat to tell you, Jack.”

Jack blinked, more confused than anything.

“What? Tell me what?”

The silence returned with a vengeance as the doctor lifted his head, slipping his glasses back on. He wasn’t making eye contact with the Irishman. Jack released an exasperated breath, uncrossing his arms and getting a tad put off by his friend’s behavior.

“Damn it, Henrik, come on. What’s going on?” Jack demanded, having enough of the long dreadful wait.

The German doctor kept his eyes fixed back out on Chase one more, seeming to be in a state of thought, like he was fighting with himself on whether or not it’d be a good idea to tell the man. He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know how he survived, Jack.”

A wave of perplexity came over the YouTuber, not taking his eyes off of the doctor.

“What?” He scoffed. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

“I mean, I don’t know.” Finally, he turned his head to look at the Irishman. “He shot himself, Jack. Zee gun he used, zee velocity, zee range – none of it adds up. He put a gun to his head – he shot himself point-blank. The bullet should’ve gone in and out of his head or at zee very least should’ve gotten stuck somevhere in his brain.”  Bewilderment was shining bright in his eyes. “But it didn’t.”

“So…So what? The bullet didn’t go as deep as it should’ve?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“How deep did it go?”

Henrik blinked and gave his friend an odd look. Why would Jack want to know about a crucial detail like that? Well then again, Chase had just survived a gunshot to the head. Jack had nearly lost an ego who had tried to commit suicide. The man deserved to know how bad the injury had been.

“It didn’t go all zhat deep. It only got lodged between his scalp and skull.” 

“And you managed to take it out? There wasn’t any damage to his skull, was there?”

Okay, that was an oddly specific question to ask. Henrik’s eyes narrowed.

“No…” He answered slowly. “No, zhere vasn’t too much damage. I mean, zhere vas a bit of fracturing, but nozhing incredibly fatal or threatening. Believe me, if he starts to show signs of brain damage, I’ll operate on him immediately and be forced to put a metal plate in his head.” He tore his gaze away and shook his head slowly. “I honestly don’t know how he survived, Jack. None of zhis should’ve happened, and quite frankly, I haven’t zee slightest idea vhat to make of it.”

Jack gave him an inquisitive look. “But isn’t that a good thing? He survived, didn’t he?”

Henrik huffed. “Vell, yes, but – .”

“But what?”

“I’m just…” The doctor sighed deeply, taking a glance back into the recovering room. “I’m just vorried about him, zhat’s all.”

This only raised more questions for the Irishman.

“Worried? Why?” He too looked into the room, eyeing Chase. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

Henrik didn’t say anything and it immediately made the YouTuber jerk his head in his direction, stunned that the man wasn’t replying. His heart stuttered with trepidation, his mind conjuring up dreadful conclusions.

“Oh no…Oh no, no, no, how bad is it?” He demanded, his eyes blown wide with horror. “How much time does he have left?”

That got the doctor’s attention. His face scrunched up with confusion as he turned to face Jack. Where had that question come from?

“Vhat?”

“How long does he have?”

“Who said anyzhing about him dying?” The German retorted back, having no idea as to why the Irishman would jump to such a ridiculous conclusion.

“So he’ll be alright then?”

Henrik released an exasperated sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Hypothetically, yes, he’ll be okay. Zhere vasn’t nearly as much damage as vhat I vould’ve expected zhere to be, and I honestly don’t know vhy zhat is. It’s a miracle really, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused, finding himself slowly drifting off into a state of memory. “But…But zhere vas somezhing…”

Jack’s brows furrowed out of question, noticing how his friend’s behavior was off.

“What? What was there?” He asked, searching the ego’s eyes for the answer.

Henrik barely heard him given just how far gone he’d become. Flashes of when he had operated on Chase flickered spastically before his eyes, remembering all too well of what hell he had endured. There was one part in particular that was standing out to him: when he had extracted the bullet from his head. He had been interrupted by countless hallucinations each and every time he had gone to try and remove the bullet, and one of those times was rather haunting. When he had gone to pull the bullet out, inky sludge had bubbled out of the wound and a long thick string of it had been attached to the bullet, getting stretched the more he pulled. At one point, it had almost looked like the black ooze had come from inside the bullet and was leaking, but he had just thought his eyes were playing games with him. That stuff, whatever it had been, wasn’t normal. He’d never seen such a substance before and he couldn’t even begin to put together a logical explanation as to what it was and why it had been in Chase’s head. He felt a shiver go up his spine at the reminder.

Should he tell Jack? He deserved to know the truth – he was their creator after all. If something was wrong with one of them, he had every right to know. But then again, that sludge Henrik had seen – how could he tell if it had been real or not? Those hallucinations he had had were so incredibly vivid, he couldn’t differentiate reality from illusion. When the nightmare had come to an end and he finally took the bullet out of Chase’s head, there hadn’t been any black ooze. Maybe it had all just been his own mind playing a horrible prank on him. And if that was the case, there wasn’t any point in telling Jack. There was no reason to make him even more worried than he already was. The good doctor scoffed and shook his head, locking his eyes back onto Jack.

“Nozhing. It’s nozhing. Sorry, I zoned out zhere for a moment.” He sighed and gave the Irishman a reassuring smile. “He’ll be alright, Jack. I know he vill.”

“So you aren’t worried about him.”

Henrik frowned. What the hell was that? The way he said those words – he made them sound like he had just proven a point. His voice had fallen cold and flat and he didn’t sound like himself. Schneeple felt as though he was getting cornered and accused of something. He blinked and gave him an incredulous look.

“Jack, he’s my patient – my dear friend. He just tried to blow his brains out a few hours ago. Vhy _vouldn’t_ I be vorried about him?”

The Irishman shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, I just…” He trailed off, taking a glance back at Chase, “He’s not like himself, Henrik. He’s not nearly as chipper and happy-go-lucky as he used to be.”

“You don’t zhink I’ve realized zhat?”

“He hasn’t…” He licked his lips, hesitating to ask, “He hasn’t shown any…out of the ordinary symptoms, has he?” He took a side-glance at the doctor.

“Symptoms?” Now Henrik was getting agitated. “Of vhat? Jack, I’m zee doctor here. Don’t you zhink if zhere vere anyzhing wrong vith him, I’d let you know?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, yes, I know.” He sighed. “I know you would tell me. I just…I’m just really concerned about him is all. I mean, I know that technically none of you guys can get sick because come on, why the hell would I want to do that to any of you? But who knows?” He stared out at Chase, a look of worry upon his pale face. “Maybe something got inside him.”

Henrik expelled a breath and patted his creator’s shoulder gently. “I know you’re vorried, Jack. Ve all are. Zee other two came by earlier vhen he was still out, and oh boy, vere zhey ever distraught. For Christ’s sake, Marvin vouldn’t stop crying. I had to talk him into showing me one of his absurd magic tricks to get him to cheer up.” 

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at that, especially what with the noticeable annoyance in the German’s words. He returned his gaze to the good doctor, searching his eyes for reassurance that the American in the other room would truly be okay.

“Jack, please, believe me…Chase is going to make it zhrough zhis.” He too was searching his friend’s eyes for any sign of him understanding what he was saying. He could only hope the man would believe him.

After an uncomfortable amount of prolonged eye contact, Jack finally exhaled softly and nodded in understanding. 

“Alright…Alright, I believe you.” 

Henrik gave a small smile at hearing this. “Good. Now I hate to cut zhis short, but I have to go and deal vith some important papervork and I need to contact his cameraman about zee whole incident. But,” He took a look back at his slumbering patient, “I don’t vant to leave him alone.”

“I could watch over him for a little while.” Jack volunteered, standing up straight and looking eager to take some stress off of the German’s shoulders.

Schneeple glanced at him with uncertainty. “Really? I don’t vant to be a bozher or anyzhing. If you need to go and deal vith somezhing important, I – .”

“Henrik, stop.” The YouTuber put an end to his babbling. “What’s important is what’s happening right now. I honestly have no problem with staying here and keeping an eye on him.” He beamed happily. “What’re friends for?”

The doctor still seemed a bit unsure, but he knew how Jack was – there was no way of reasoning with him once he had his mind set on something. He let out a defeated breath.

“Alright, if you insist.” He smiled in return as he began to walk backward, about to head off for his office. “Zhank you. And I svear, I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”

Jack chuckled and waved a hand off at him. “Take your time. I don’t have anywhere else to be right at the moment.” He tore his gaze away and looked back into Chase’s room, his smile faltering. Henrik noticed.

“Jack, relax. He vill be alright.” His words bounced off of the walls of the hallway as he turned and sprinted for his office.

The Irishman watched him race down the hall in a hurry to go and complete his work. He scoffed and glanced back into the recovery room. He locked his eyes onto Chase, watching the man sleep soundly. For a fleeting moment, the lights in the room flickered, and as soon as that happened, the American jerked under the covers. His face twisted up into one of pain, his body slowly twisting and turning in the blankets, trying to both stop the agony and get himself comfortable. A faint whimper could be heard slipping from his lips, but it didn’t just carry pain – fear was lingering there as well.

A deeply unsettling chuckle bubbled out from deep within the Irishman’s throat, finding amusement in seeing his friend in agony. The corner of his lips tugged up into an awfully devilish smirk, the light above him flickering before burning out completely. Two sickeningly pale green eyes glowed brightly from out there in the dark patch of the hallway. He cocked his head slightly, staring at Chase with a look that read nothing but malicious intent. And when he spoke, his voice – it came out scratchy and distorted.

It sounded like someone who had gotten their windpipe cut open.

**“He won’t be for long.”**


	13. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just going to say the following.
> 
> This is by far the longest chapter to date - it came out as 21 pages long.
> 
> I want to put a big warning on this and say there may be possible trigger warnings, but I don’t want to spoil anything that’ll happen in the chapter. So consider this as warning.
> 
> ……
> 
> ….I am SO sorry….

This was a bad idea. This was a _really_ bad idea.

He remained where he stood in the middle of the sidewalk, standing before the steps leading up to his wife’s pristine house. His hands were getting clammy, balled up into tight fists at his sides, and he was visibly quivering all over, even though it was rather warm outside. He couldn’t hear anything over the deafening beating of his poor heart racing with trepidation. He was still staring at the front door as though he was about to face a horrific monster of sorts. He swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out a shaky breath. Anxiety was finally settling in with him and he really was beginning to consider turning away and leaving like the coward he knew he was. He _really_ didn’t want to be here, he couldn’t stress that enough. The man could barely even breathe properly at just the thought of how he’d be greeted. 

How would she react? Would she yell at him? Scream at him to get the fuck off her property? Go off on a rant about how horrible of a husband and father he had been? Maybe break his heart for the hundredth time, rip it out and shove it down his throat without care? 

His fist-sized organ of innocence gave a painful pang in his chest at all of the different ways this could go. This entire situation screamed nothing but bad news – nothing good could possibly come out of this. And yet, he knew it had to be done. He had to confront Stacy and tell her how he felt and vice versa. Everything had to get put out on the table. The guys were right; the only way his pain would go away is if he worked things out with his wife face to face. And here he was, just about to do that.

A cool breeze whisked by the back of his neck, causing a shiver to run down his spine and make his hairs stand up on end. He inhaled sharply and slowly released the breath of air he’d been holding in as he forced himself to take a step forward, finally making his way up the stairs.

_Relax, man. Relax. Deep breaths. Everything’s going to be okay._ He repeatedly told himself in an attempt to steady his nerves. _Just remember what Jack and the doc said. Everything will be fine._

As he ventured up the steps, eyes still very much transfixed on the door, he didn’t hear the children’s shrieks of delight from down the block abruptly stop. He didn’t hear the man a few doors down suddenly stop mowing his front lawn. He didn’t hear the lady across the street put an end to the conversation she was having with her neighbours. He didn’t hear the birds in the trees stop chirping, nor how anyone driving in a car stopped and decided to park in the middle of the road. 

He didn’t turn to look over his shoulder to notice how anyone and everyone in the neighbourhood had stopped what they were doing. He didn’t notice how they all had their attention on him now, all eyes eerily focused onto him, watching. 

Once he was up on the front porch, Chase approached the front door and raised a fist, hesitant to give a knock. His hand was visibly shaking and he bit his lower lip, fighting with himself about going through with this.

_Fuck it._

Summoning any bravery he had, he knocked on the door and waited anxiously, heart pounding away in his chest brutally. He waited but there was no answer. He shifted around nervously before giving another knock. Still no answer. He glanced around with uncertainty, deciding to knock one last time, silently cursing under his breath and secretly hoping like hell no one would come to the door. He stood there, waiting for what felt like hours, his breaths coming out short and uneven. He sighed and turned to leave, mumbling under his breath how this was a waste of time, until he made out the clicking of the door being unlocked. His heart gave a jolt as he swivelled around to watch the door get pulled open, a twenty-something, brown-haired woman now standing there.

“Yes, hello, what is – ?” The woman’s eyes lifted from the ground to meet his and almost immediately, her entire body tensed up on the spot. In seconds flat, her face went as white as a ghost; all of her blood draining away. Her brows shot up into her hairline as her emerald-green eyes grew as wide as saucers, mouth hanging agape. She was staring at Chase with what he could only deduce as a hybrid of shock and full-blown horror.

Chase blinked, getting his mind out of his stunned and worrisome state, and he cleared his throat, looking at her a bit sheepishly. The corner of his lips tugged up into a very small smile that faded as fast as it had appeared.

“Hi Stacy.” He said softly.

Her expression wasn’t changing, she was still paralyzed in shock, not blinking and struggling to give a reply.

“Oh my God.” The words came out so quiet and uneven, Chase had nearly missed them. 

The American bit his lip nervously and looked away for a brief moment, shifting awkwardly where he stood with his hands in his pockets. 

“I know this is a bit of a surprise. I know we haven’t seen each other in months and I’m sorry for – .”

“H-How…?”

His eyes shot up to meet hers’. She shook her head slowly – very slowly, eyes never leaving his.

“You’re…Y-You’re alive? How…?”

Chase frowned, brows furrowing a bit out of confusion. Had she heard about what had happened to him – about the suicide attempt? Well she must’ve, given what the doc had told him. He had shot himself on live television; everyone surely must’ve seen it. And if she hadn’t, maybe the doc had called her and let her know.

“Yeah…Yeah, I’m uhh…” He scoffed like he himself couldn’t even believe it. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m alive. I, umm…I take it you must’ve heard about what happened, huh?”

She didn’t reply, she was still staring at him, stunned. Chase tore his gaze away, feeling shame seep in.

“Look, I’m sorry for not seeing you months ago, I really am.”

“W-Why’re you here?” 

Again, he took a glance back at her, noticing the demanding tone of voice she was using. 

“I…” He sighed shakily, took a glance over his shoulder, and shrugged. “Could we talk inside? I came here to talk – about everything. I was hoping you’d hear me out and I could hear you out. You know,” He was taking constant nervous glances between her and the ground, “actually try and work things out like adults.”

Stacy shook her head slowly and he noticed how she took a hesitant step backward, going to close the door. 

“No…N-No, you need – you need to leave, Chase. You need to leave.” Her words were all coming out rather shaky and her lips were trembling.

Chase stood up straight and took a step forward, which strangely caused his wife to gasp in alarm and take another step back. Now he was a tad bit concerned. Why was she acting so strange? Yeah, he had shot himself, and yeah, she probably had seen it and was now shocked at seeing him here on her doorstep. But why was she acting so shaken? Why was she looking at him like he was a monster about to eat her?

“No, no, no, come on, Stace, please. Please.” He pleaded, searching her eyes for any sympathy. “I just want to talk to you, that’s all, I swear. All I’m asking is for a couple of minutes of your time, that’s it. Let me talk to you, and if you want me to leave afterwards, then I’ll be out of your hair, okay?” 

She was looking at him uncertainly now, fear still clouding her eyes. His expression softened a bit, looking at her like a lost puppy. 

“Please, Stace.”

Stacy stared at him for a long minute, almost like she was trying to decipher whether or not he was telling the truth and if it was a good idea to let him inside. She let out a shaky breath, poked her head outside a bit more, and took a nervous glance around before looking back at him and biting her lip. After what felt like ages, she gave a small nod, whispered, “Alright”, and stepped back, opening the door for him to let him inside. He stepped inside and headed off into the living room while Stacy shut the door behind them, following after him, watching his every move carefully. Chase didn’t sit down, he remained standing, looking around the room with false interest to keep him from having to look at his wife.

“You’ve redecorated.” He commented, a small smile coming onto his face. He motioned over at the far window adorned with sheer linen drapery. “I like what you’ve done with the drapes. Those look nice.” 

“My sister suggested them.” His wife said in a timid voice.

He felt his heart stutter at the mention of her sister – they didn’t get along all too well. He nodded in understanding. He was clearly stalling, dreading having to talk to her about the real problem at hand. There was an overwhelming dead silence suffocating both of them and it wasn’t sitting well with Chase in the slightest. He sighed softly and went to look at her, hesitant to speak up.

“Listen, Stacy, about the phone call – .”

He stopped immediately when he noticed the look on Stacy’s face. Her eyes were beginning to water and she truly looked scared now given her body language. She was hugging herself tightly, and she was taking nervous glances over at the cordless phone sitting atop of a table on the far end of the room, near the entrance to the kitchen. Chase’s brows weaved out of confusion, more so concern. 

“Stacy?”

She jolted at hearing her name, a faint gasp slipping past her lips as her eyes darted back to him. She was staring at him alarmed like a deer to the headlights, body tensed up greatly. More worry sunk into Chase. Something was evidently frightening her and he didn’t understand what.

“Stace, what’s wrong? You’re shaking.” It was true; she was trembling all over as though the room was freezing cold.

She shook her head and moved a hand up to wipe her eyes. “N-Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. It’s just a bit cold in here, that’s all. I’m fine.” She said, lying through her teeth. She motioned for him to go on. “What were you going to say?”

Chase narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side and looking at her suspiciously. “No…No, don’t lie to me, Stace. Don’t shut me out. What’s wrong?” 

He took a step forward, and instantly, she jumped back in alarm, eyes blown wide with fear. Okay, now he definitely knew something was wrong.

“Stacy?” His expression softened, concern lacing his every word. “Come on, talk to me. You’re acting like I’m going to hurt you or something.”

He watched as she shook all over, biting her quivering lip and hugging herself tighter. She shut her eyes and shook her head violently, a hand clamping over her mouth like she was struggling to keep herself from crying. She was refusing to look at him, as well as speak to him, and it was beginning to scare Chase. He’d never seen her act like this before. He took a cautious slow step forward, not wanting to upset her any further. He even put his hands up to show he didn’t mean any harm.

“Stace, what – ?”

“How could you do it?”

He froze up on the spot, staring at her intently as she pulled her hand away from her mouth. She reopened her eyes and looked at him through her tears. He became puzzled, thinking at first maybe she was referring to what had happened over the phone months ago. He went to question her about it, but she continued on.

“How could you – ? How could…” She paused, taking in a breath of air, inhaling sharply, “Why? Just…J-Just why?” She choked on a sob, a lone tear running down her cheek. “I mean, I know we’ve had our differences. I know I was harsh on the phone that day, I know things were going to shit, but…but…Jesus Christ.” She shut her eyes again, passing a hand over her face and shaking her head in disbelief.

Chase neared her cautiously, feeling the need to go and comfort her. But one step was all it took for her to fling herself backward, hands outstretched towards him, clearly not wanting him to come any closer.

“Please! Please, don’t! Just…” A stuttering breath expelled from her lips as she looked at him pleadingly. “Please, just…just stay away from me. Please, Chase.”

Okay, _now_ he was getting unsettled. Her behavior was incredibly abnormal and not like her at all. She had no reason to be acting like this towards him. He had never once abused her, he had always been gentle and loving, and yet here she was, acting like she was expecting him to lash out and hit her at any given moment. 

“Stacy, seriously, what the hell is going on? You’re scaring me.”

Not daring to move any further, he kept his distance, keeping his eyes on her and waiting impatiently for an explanation. Stacy’s brows furrowed out of puzzlement, her green eyes boring into his with question.

“You…You don’t remember?” She asked. “You don’t remember what – what you did?”

He shook his head. “Stace, I have no idea what you’re going on about, I – .”

“You don’t remember what you did to those people? What you did to those children?” She sniffled. “What happened to Chad? You don’t remember any of it?”

Chase’s heart skipped a painful beat at the mention of his friend, eyes widening with bewilderment.

“Chad?” He questioned instantly. “What about him? Where is he?”

Stacy didn’t reply, she was still looking at him with a mixture of perplexity and horror. He tore his gaze away, worry seeping into his veins, but it wasn’t just that – confusion was lingering as well. Now that she mentioned it, he hadn’t seen or heard from Chad since that day they had recorded a video. It was like the man had just suddenly dropped off of the face of the Earth, never to be heard or seen from again. It wasn’t like him. Chase and Chad were bros – best friends. What _had_ happened to Chad? 

Chase shut his eyes for a moment, wincing slightly as he felt a dull ache come from his right temple. How come he couldn’t remember anything about the video they had recorded? He only recalled speaking to Stacy midway through and getting rather upset over what she had told him – everything else was a foggy blur. It was like his brain was deliberately keeping important information from him. His brows furrowed as he tried to remember that day, reopening his eyes and staring at Stacy with apprehension.

“Stacy…Stacy, what happened?” He asked with trepidation dripping from his words.

She shook her head, taking a slow step backward and giving him a pleading look. “Please, Chase. P-Please just…j-just leave.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “No. No, no, no, don’t do this. Come on, Stace, what happened? What happened before I shot myself?” He begged, hoping like hell she’d spill her guts about the truth. “I don’t remember what happened that day. You…” He stopped, letting out a shaky breath. He was scared to ask. “You said I did something to some people and…” He hesitated, face scrunching up with confusion, “and children?” 

He could hear quiet sobs coming from her, a hand over her mouth once again in a horrible attempt to stave off anymore tears from coming. It wasn’t going the way she had hoped. Chase took a slow step forward, tilting his head and looking at her with desperation.

“Stacy…please…” He searched her blurred eyes for an answer that he was dreading to hear. “Please…What did I do?”

Shaking her head wildly, Stacy yanked her hand away from her face and caved.

“You…Y-You killed a bunch of people, Chase.” She sobbed. 

His heart constricted tightly in his chest, eyes boring into his wife’s with horror. He shook his head slowly, not wanting to believe it. Why would she say such a thing? He wasn’t a killer, he was a sweet, caring man – why would he – ?

“Good, innocent people – neighbours, friends, children.” Stacy continued, each word strangled with terror and heartache. 

He felt his right temple ache and throb and he winced once again, lifting a hand to gently touch the healed scarring. Fragments of that day were stabbing into his brain unexpectedly, shards of what had happened during the time of recording. He made out himself overcome with a monstrosity made up of anguish and rage and holding his signature nine millimeter handgun, aiming out in front of him and shooting at something – or someone, he couldn’t tell. The memories were flickering before his eyes like a reel in a broken movie projector.

“You…” Stacy stopped herself, choking on a breath, not being able to handle the pain, “You just…lost your mind…”

He hissed through his teeth as the ache in his temple grew worse. More pieces of the puzzle were thrown at him, getting triggered by his wife’s words. Vaguely, he recalled figures running around frantically – some cowering and hugging each other out of fear. Gunshots were going off loudly, so much so they were deafening him. He could barely hear the agonizing screams of innocent people getting shot at and dropping to the ground dead.

“One moment, you were fine, carrying on with your little game, and…and the next…” She sniffled, “y-you were going around, s-shooting – shooting people in the neighbourhood without care.” A few lone tears ran down her cheeks. “Y-You didn’t care, Chase.”

Sharp pain shot through his head and he nearly yelped in agony, eyes shutting tight as he pressed his hand against his temple almost like he thought it’d relieve the pain. Flashes of blood red flew across his vision as he watched each and every one of his dear neighbourhood friends crumble to the ground in a heap of flesh and blood, pleading for their lives desperately before having bullets sent through their skulls. And Stacy was right – he didn’t care. He didn’t feel any guilt or regret. There was no remorse, only pain and uncontrollable fury. He shook his head violently, refusing to believe it. He couldn’t! He wasn’t a monster, he didn’t hurt anyone! 

“N-No…No, no, no, stop it. Stop it!” He shouted, the pain worsening to the point it felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to his skull.

Stacy took a hesitant step backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. “A-And Chad…Y-You…” She sniffed, tears running over her lips, “Y-You let him jump off of a nearby shed th-that was much too high and…and…” Her lips trembled, struggling to get out the gut-wrenching truth. She shook her head in disbelief, “h-he died, Chase. He jumped, he smacked right into a nearby brick wall, and collapsed and he – he didn’t get back up.” 

Nothing but agony was burrowing into Chase’s brain deeply and this time he did yelp. He clutched his head tightly and stumbled backward, the wall in his head crumbling down all at once. He remembered everything now. He remembered letting Chad go up onto the shed to try out a sick trick, only for it to go terribly wrong. He remembered watching him leap off of the roof, bright goofy smile on his face, and his body colliding into a brick wall full force, plummeting to the ground with a loud, abrupt crack, laying there unmoving. He remembered walking away, thinking it was just a joke that Chad had played and that everything would be okay. He remembered hearing a distorted voice creep into the back of his head, telling him that his friend had just died and he was at fault. 

“No, NO! STOP IT!” He screamed, the memories constantly flashing through his mind torturously. 

He whimpered as he felt another surge of agony channel through his brain. He shook his head, slipping further and further into denial. 

“I didn’t! I-I didn’t do it – I didn’t do any of it!” He was saying it more to himself than he was to Stacy. He was desperately trying to convince himself it was all lies. “I-I’m a good person. I…I didn’t hurt anyone, I didn’t, I swear!”

He remembered getting the phone call from Stacy, listening to her drop the bomb onto him about how she wanted to get a divorce and was going to take the kids away from him. He remembered arguing with her rather harshly and getting pissed at his cameraman for spying on him. He remembered saying one last “I love you” to his kids before the line went dead. Tears began to well up in his eyes, on the very verge of crying.

“I’m a good person…I’m a good person…” He repeated under his breath over and over again.

He made out the sound of Stacy’s shaky sobs.

“Why?...Why would you do something so horrible, Chase? Why?” She pleaded, her voice quaking with fear.

Chase released another yelp of pain, his skull feeling like there was something trying to break out of it. 

“I DIDN’T DO IT!”

He remembered the voice insisting that no one understood him and that Stacy probably convinced everyone he was a horrible man. He remembered being told that they all needed to go. He remembered the voice telling him that if he was going to go out in this world, then they would all go with him. He remembered loading his gun and walking around the neighbourhood, blowing everyone’s brains out without care left, right, and center. He remembered their horrified screams and the cries of children desperately trying to get away. He remembered there being one last bullet left – one seeming a tad darker than the rest for some reason, almost black – and giving one last message to the camera for Stacy before bringing the gun to his head and pulling the trigger. Chase sobbed softly and was shaking his head vigorously, tears finally dripping from his eyes.

“I…I didn’t…” He reopened his eyes and tried to stand up straight, looking at Stacy with heartache. “I didn’t kill anyone. I…I didn’t do it – I didn’t kill those people, I swear to God! I’m not a bad person!” He winced and pressed on his temple, wanting the pain to stop. 

Stacy was staring at him with pity. She could see in his eyes that he was absolutely crushed by the realization of what he had done and that he honest to God hadn’t known about it all until now. He was breaking apart at the seams and she wished there was something she could do to relieve him of his pain. She took another step back, eyeing the phone by the kitchen before looking back at him.

“Ch-Chase…” She swallowed her tears. “Chase, please…P-Please, leave.” She pleaded once more, desperately wanting him to go away. 

She watched him sob, holding his head in his hands as the dreadful truth sank in. She took a glance back at the phone, contemplating about calling the cops. Chase barely heard her as he lifted his head and sniffled, wiping his eyes clear of his tears. He didn’t look at her – he now understood why she was acting so scared of him. He stared down at the floor, his thoughts a scattered mess as the memories of that day plagued his damaged mind. He began to think about the kids and whether or not they knew about the horrific crime he had committed. His heart stuttered at the thought. If Stacy knew, maybe they did too. Maybe she had told them. Releasing an uneven breath and struggling to part his lips, the green-haired man finally spoke up.

“W-Where are the kids?”

A minute that felt like an hour went by agonizingly slow, and hearing no answer from his wife, Chase shifted his gaze onto her, noticing how she was staring at him intently, shaking her head a bit.

“Stace…” He licked at the tears that washed over his lips and stood up straight, taking a quick glance around the room before settling back on Stacy, “Stace, where are the kids?”

She still wasn’t giving an answer. Instead, she was slowly but surely backing away from him, soft whimpers leaving her. She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“P-Please, Chase…Please…Please leave.” She begged, taking nervous glances at the phone once again.

He noticed and followed her line of sight to see what she was looking at. At spotting the phone, he turned back to her, eyes wide with fear of what she’d do. 

“Stace…”

“Please…Please, just leave…” She sobbed, a few tears running down her cheeks. 

“Where are the kids, Stacy?” He asked again, a tad bit more stern this time. He felt a twinge of pain shoot through his brain, wincing slightly but not taking his eyes off of her. He wanted to see the kids. She had kept them from him for long enough, and if he was going to end up in jail sometime soon, then the least she could do was let him see them one last time. 

She was still refusing to confess. “Please…L-Leave.” She shook her head. “I-I won’t tell anyone you were here, I swear. I-I swear it.” She kept backing away from him, trembling all over out of fear. “N-No one needs to know y-you were here.”

Chase slowly began to approach her, feeling a tremor of anger beginning to make its way through his body. She had no right to be keeping the kids from him – he had been a loving father, he didn’t deserve this!

“Where are the kids?”

“Y-You can leave here and…and no one will know. No one will ever know. I…” She sniffled, raising her hands in defense, “I won’t call the cops, I swear it. You – You won’t get caught.”

Chase suddenly lurched toward her, causing her to jump back and shriek in terror.

“Where are the kids, Stacy?!” He yelled at her, demanding to know where they were.

She shook her head, tears washing over her face. Her mascara was running all along her cheeks and her eyes were getting puffy and red from her constant crying. 

“I-I can’t…I c-can’t…” She sobbed pathetically, her body quivering from the force of her crying.

His expression fell, the look in his eyes darkening. He nodded and scoffed, stepping away from her and chuckling lightly as though this was all a sick joke. Stacy looked at him with fear-clouded eyes, shaking like a leaf and not understanding what could possibly be making him laugh at a time like this.

“Unbelievable.” He said with distaste. “I knew it. I knew this would happen. I knew you were going to shut me out.” He scowled at her, eyes red from the tears he had shed a moment ago. “Here I am, thinking the guys were right – that coming to you would be the best idea, that we could work things out and my pain could be taken away.” He chuckled again, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the floor. “And the funny thing is, for one fleeting moment, I bought into it. I actually thought that there was a chance, but no,” He shook his head, returning his gaze to her, smile disappearing instantly, “you’re still the same heartless bitch from before. The same goddamn bitch who had the audacity to go and phone me while at work and basically tell me to fuck off!”

Stacy stood there, curling in on herself out of fear, flinching at Chase’s sudden change in tone of voice. She couldn’t stop shaking, nor would the tears stop coming. She couldn’t even tell him how sorry she was. She was getting devoured by fear far too easily, giving off the appearance of a child who was scared the boogeyman was going to get them. She just kept on pleading for him to leave and that she wouldn’t call the police. Chase ignored her.

“I was a loving husband and father – I cared for the kids far more than you ever did, and what did you do? You spat in my face.” He lashed out with resentment. 

The overwhelming agony that had been swelling in his heart like a cancerous growth over the past few months had broken through and was surfacing, morphing into hatred and pure unadulterated anger. His temple throbbed insistently, blinding pain pulsing behind his eyes as he glared at her. He was starting to hear a faint voice in the back of his head now, feeding him insidious truths.

_“What have you ever done wrong? Nothing! You gave her and the kids everything you had to offer. You cared for them, showered them with love, made money so you could feed them and give them a roof over their heads. And look at where it’s gotten you! She doesn’t give a shit about you and she never has! You came back here to make things right and instead she’s trying to throw you out? Those kids aren’t strictly hers’, they’re yours’ as well. She has no right to keep them from you, not after everything you’ve done for them all!”_

Chase growled softly under his breath, rubbing at his head as he felt the pain spread throughout his skull. His head twitched slightly as he locked his eyes back onto Stacy, finding it pitiful how she wasn’t even trying to defend herself.

“I gave you everything.” He seethed. “I gave you _everything_ and you had the nerve to tell me how awful of a husband I was? I helped out around the house, I treated you like a queen, I made the kids happier than ever, and _THIS_ is the thanks I get? I get told to leave yet again without seeing my kids?”

Stacy shook her head, struggling to speak up. “N-No. No, no, no, please.” She begged. “P-Please, Chase, hear me out. I-I’m sorry.”

“Hear you out? Hear YOU out?!” Chase glared daggers at her, seeing through a red haze of rage now. “I’ve heard you sputter and choke and sob countless times over about just how ‘hard done by’ you’ve felt and how shitty your life is. No more! Enough!” The pain was channeling back and forth through his brain, panging away at the inside of his skull annoyingly. “It’s YOUR turn to hEaR Me oUt!” With no warning, his entire body seemed to glitch out violently and surge forward, his voice rippling as the intervals changed drastically. 

Stacy screamed in horror and jumped back, tripping over the edge of the coffee table and tumbling to the floor. She immediately locked her wide eyes onto Chase, scrambling away from him out of fear for her life. She was staring at him with a mix of terror and perplexity, more so the former. What the fuck was that? He had just become a distorted, pixelated manifestation for a second and his voice…

Tremors of unease skyrocketed throughout her veins as she stared at him, noticing how he was boring his dark eyes into her with such hatred, he looked like he was going to kill her. She shook her head slowly, hesitating to speak. She could barely even breathe, let alone get the words out. It felt as though anything and everything she wanted to say had gotten lodged deep in her throat, like she was choking on her own words. She released a shaky breath, a lone tear black from her mascara leaving a streak along her cheek.

“W-What…” She swallowed the lump in her throat, having a difficult time breathing. “W-What’s wrong with you?” She croaked, like it was such a hardship to get out what she wanted to say.

Stacy jolted, noticing his form tense up greatly, the expression on his face contorting into one of irritation and disgust. Chase jerked his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. He was so consumed by rage that he was shaking. He giggled lightly, rather unsettlingly to Stacy, which only made her shudder violently.

“What’s wrong with me? You should be asking yourself that question!” He snapped. “Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done to me? Do you have ANY idea what kind of pain you’ve caused me?!” He shouted, and though he was beyond pissed off, tears were welling up in his eyes again. 

“You took EVERYTHING from me! EvEryTHiNg!” He screeched, his body glitching out spastically again; his head seeming to lag and jerk to the right several times. 

He groaned at the pain, whimpering and gripping his head tightly, listening to his inner demon’s sinister longings. “Y-You…ngh…Y-You will pay.” He growled softly under his breath, a small evil chuckle escaping his lips before lifting his head and glaring at his wife. “How’s about it, Stace?”

Stacy whimpered and tried to back away, only to realize that there was nowhere to go. Her back was pressed up against the nearest wall, and with Chase standing just a few feet away from her, there was no way she could move. She briefly eyed the phone across the room. It was too far, and if she were to get up and run, there was no telling what Chase might do. She watched him reach behind him and pull something out from the back of his jeans. Her heart nearly gave out at seeing what he was holding.

His nine millimeter pistol – the exact gun he used for his videos. The exact one he had used to kill all of those people.

Panic washed over her immediately, all of the blood in her face draining and causing her head to spin with light-headedness. Her heart had already been racing before, but now it was beating so fast and brutally against her ribcage that her chest was actually beginning to hurt. She was half expecting the organ to burst out at any moment. She could her it beating frantically in her ears, eyes locked onto the gun as she watched him load it.

“Now, no more fooling around.” He cocked the gun, locking the magazine in. “I’m going to ask one last time.” He turned the pistol onto Stacy, aiming directly at his wife’s forehead. “Where. Are. The kids?”

His voice, the look in his eyes – it was all so different. Chase was known for being a child at heart, an innocent soul; he would never hurt a fly. He was always happy-go-lucky and a delight to be around. He always knew how to have a good time. But everything about him now was completely one hundred percent the opposite. He was acting callous and unhinged, not a trace of that child-like innocence in sight. His eyes seemed like they were a much darker shade of blue, and there wasn’t any remorse or fear in them – only hurt, anger, and unbridled loathing. But nothing scared Stacy to the core more than his voice. His voice had held only spite and promise that if Stacy didn’t answer the question, he _WOULD_ pull the trigger. Stacy’s breaths were coming out laboured, practically hyperventilating at this point. She cried, tears continuously cascading down her face as she shook her head repeatedly.

“N-No…N-No, no, no, please. P-Please!” She pleaded desperately, pushing her back further into the wall as though she was expecting to somehow hide inside it. “Ch-Chase, please! D-Don’t do this, p-please don’t!” She choked on her sobs. 

She was searching his eyes for any sign of empathy, any sign of the man she had fallen in love with long ago, but there was barely anything there. His eyes were watering, but she couldn’t tell why. 

“P-Please, Chase! You’re – You’re a good person, I know you are! Th-Think of the kids!” She was grasping at straws at this point, hoping like hell he would hear her out. She shook her head vigorously. “Y-You’re not a murderer, Chase. I know you – you’re a good man!”

Chase scoffed, the corner of his lips tugging up into a mocking smirk. “You know me?” His face seemed to glitch out before Stacy’s own eyes, his expression returning back to the deathly glare. “You don’t know me at all! You never ONCE took the time to actually get to know me!” He flared, his body rippling and struggling to remain stable. A tear left one of his eyes as a different version of him projected forth, showing him screaming out in pain and putting the gun to his head. 

Stacy gasped out of fright, reflexively raising an arm up to shield herself, as though she was expecting to receive a blow to the face. She sobbed, breathing in uneven gasps as she stared at him pleadingly.

“Ch-Chase, please, y-you don’t have – .”

“ShUt uP!” Chase snapped, his entire body glitching out, his head jerking and twitching from left to right. 

He groaned and lifted his free hand to his head, feeling for the scarring around his right temple. He bored his eyes deep into his wife, seeing nothing but a crimson haze of seething hatred. He could hear the voice taunting him, coercing him into giving in and putting an end to the bitch that had ruined his life. He clicked down the hammer of the gun as he leaned forward a bit.

“You did this to me…You made me put a gun to my head.” He hissed sourly. He even brought his hand up to his head, curling in two of his fingers while the other two extended out to his temple. He brought down his thumb, making it look like his hand was a gun and he just shot himself. He cocked his head in an unnatural way reminiscent of a bird’s. “You caused me so much pain…that you made me put a bullet in my head.” A lone tear raced down his cheek as he chuckled lightly, coming out rather nervously – almost like he was having second thoughts.

Almost like he didn’t want to do this.

Stacy noticed and parted her lips to speak, but she didn’t get a chance. Chase stood up straight, lowering the hand by his head. The next few words that slithered out of his mouth shook with trepidation and they sent Stacy spiraling into a short-lived state of bone-chilling horror.

“Now you’ll get to know what it feels like.”

“No! No, no, Ch-Chase, ple – !”

BANG!

A vast amount of blood and brain matter sprayed across the lightly-colored wall, painting it in crimson red patterns. His wife’s head whiplashed backward at the force of the impact before slumping forward, a penny-sized hole in the dead center of her forehead while a good portion of the back of her head had been completely blown apart. Her head hung low, her paled face forever frozen in a state of horror, blood oozing out of the gaping hole in her skull.

Chase stood there in the middle of the living room, gun still aimed at Stacy. He shot her once more and once more again without care, making sure she would stay dead. His eyes were transfixed on her blown-open head; the muscle and tissue all torn and pulled apart. His hand was shaking as a lone tear ran down his cheek, his teeth clenched together. He slowly lowered the gun and inhaled and exhaled deeply, his gaze shifting to a nearby clock. It was 2:45 P.M. He tensed up, his nerves racking with dread.

They would be home soon.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later and he heard the pitter-patter of feet racing up the front steps of the house, alongside the voices of his children calling out to their friends, saying their goodbyes. He heard the front door open and two sets of feet trample into the house.

“Mom! We’re home!” A young boy’s voice carried out through the house, sounding no less than eight years of age.

Chase stepped out from around the corner, his hands behind his back as he smiled at finally getting to see his kids after such a long period of time. “Hey guys.” He beamed.

The kids whirled around to see their daddy standing before them, both of them gasping with surprise. Immediately the youngest, a six year old girl with long dark hair like her mother and baby-blue eyes like her father, squealed with delight and dropped her backpack.

“Daddy!” She giggled happily.

The boy with short brunette hair and brown eyes was also in an overjoyed state, taking off his backpack and smiling brightly.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked with curiosity.

Chase shrugged. “Just thought I’d drop by to see how my two favorite little dudes are doing.” He returned the smile, walking over to his children and moving a hand to ruffle his son’s hair. The boy laughed as the girl raced over to hug Chase’s leg. He chuckled at seeing just how happy she was to see him.

“So where’s Mom?” His son questioned, taking a glance around. Luckily for Chase, he didn’t go wandering off into the living room.

Chase took a side-glance at him. “Your mom’s taking a bit of a nap right now so I think it’d be best if we all keep it down for a while.” He advised. A sad knowing smile played across his lips – one his kids would easily mistake as just a normal friendly smile. “You can see her later on, I promise.”

Though that would’ve probably sounded odd to anyone else, the kids didn’t seem to notice; they were far too overjoyed to see their father after so long. Chase kneeled and extended his arms out, immediately pulling both of his children into a warm embrace. Both kids wrapped their arms around their dad, hugging him tightly with heartwarming smiles plastered on their faces. 

“I missed you guys so much.” Chase murmured to them, one of his hands softly stroking his daughter’s hair.

He made out the voice in the back of his head whispering to him once again.

_“They aren’t just your kids…They were Stacy’s too…They are a part of her…You can’t move on unless – .”_

He shut his eyes tightly as he heard what the voice had to say. Tears began to well up in his eyes at the notion of the thought. He pet his little girl’s head while his other arm held his son close.

“Oh my God, I missed you both so much.” His voice shook with sorrow, and his kids heard it as clear as day.

“Daddy, why are you crying?” He heard his little girl question in the most sweet, most innocent voice he had ever heard.

Chase gasped softly, blinking and setting a few of his tears free. “D-Daddy’s just so happy to see you two, that’s all, Sweetie.”

Without either of his kids noticing, he raised his right hand behind them – the hand armed with his pistol, locked and loaded. His hand was shaking as he lifted it, bringing it up to the edge of his daughter’s jaw, keeping it a good distance away so she wouldn’t notice. His lip trembled as he eyed the gun, the hammer already down and finger resting over the trigger. He closed his eyes, tears of heartache running down his face, quiet sobs leaving him. He felt his daughter gently rub his back while his son patted his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Daddy. Don’t cry.” His sweet little girl cooed, not wanting her father to be upset. She didn’t like seeing her fun, goofy dad crying.

“Yeah, Dad, it’s alright.” His son reassured, nuzzling his cheek into his dad’s shoulder.

They couldn’t see just how broken up their father was. They couldn’t see the endless cool tears of pain streaming down his face and how much heartache he was overcome with. Chase sobbed, allowing his inner demon to speak to him. He didn’t want to do this – they were his kids, they – 

_“They aren’t just your kids, they’re hers’ as well. You may not want to do this, but you HAVE to, you KNOW you have to. It’s the only way the pain will stop.”_

He bit his lower lip hard, trying to both stave off his tears and not cry out in anguish. He really didn’t want to do this, but the voice was right – he HAD to do this. He NEEDED to do this. 

“It’s okay, Daddy.” His daughter whispered softly.

His finger began to apply pressure to the trigger as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, whimpering through his sobs.

“D-Daddy loves you both…s-so much.”

* * * * *

From outside of the snow-white house – the home for which had belonged to a once happy family – there was silence. There weren’t any cars roaring down the road, there weren’t any children laughing with delight, and there weren’t any birds singing their songs from the treetops. There was absolutely no sound whatsoever, nothing but a chilling cold silence. But in this eerily quiet neighbourhood, the residents stood out in plain sight, having all stopped what they had been doing before. Cars abandoned in the street, running garden hose hanging in limp hands, hamburger patties left unattended on a burning barbeque grill. Everyone had lost interest in their daily activities – they all had their attention elsewhere.

They were all staring at the pristine house, the one from out of a fairy tale.

All eyes were transfixed onto it, deadpanned, glazed over as though they were all braindead.

All eyes were faintly glowing a sickening neon green.

All eyes were on that house, watching…

Watching…

_Watching…_

From outside of the cursed house – the home for which had belonged to a once severely crippled and damaged family – the abruptly loud firings of a gun going off resounded throughout the dead silence of the streets. One bang, two bangs, and three bangs more. It’s all that rang through the foggy air of the deafened neighbourhood. And no one, not a single person, reacted. 

There were no screams, yells, or exclamations of horror.

There was no flinching or cringing. No blinking either.

No one was running to see what had happened and no one was racing off to phone the police.

Everyone remained where they stood, staring unblinking at the house.

There were only smiles slowly creeping along each and every one of their faces – all crude and twisted with demented pleasure, stretching wide to show teeth.

The silence returned with a nerve-quivering vengeance.

* * * * *

Months later, a new video was uploaded to Jack’s channel, the thumbnail showing Chase as his eccentric, childish self. A year later and Chase FINALLY got another video! It was about time! However, unknowingly to the millions of viewers about to click on it and watch it, that video had been recorded mid-August. No one would know. No one would find out about the truth.

The video started up, the screen blacker than black for a full minute. And though there was nothing to see, there was audio. Someone or something was scuffling around, shaking uneven breaths expelling from whoever was handling the camera. After a good long minute, static raced across the screen before glitching out spastically, pixels zig-zagging against each other. The glitches backed off to show a disheveled green-haired man on his knees, staring at the camera with a look of shell shock, like the man had gone through Hell and back. His hair was a complete mess and he looked drained, skin pale as a corpse and gaze drifting off elsewhere as though he was in a daze. Any and all happiness had been drained from his ocean-blue eyes, and they seemed to look red and a tad puffy, as though he had been crying. But that’s not what would get everyone’s immediate attention – what would was how there was crimson red spattered across his face, neck, and shirt collar. 

What was this? What was wrong with Chase? This wasn’t at all like the first video he had appeared in a year ago – back when he had been a goofy, carefree man, laughing and performing sick tricks for everyone’s entertainment. There was no sign of a lively smile, no look of playfulness – there was only gloom and an uneasy sense of dread for some strange reason. What was going on?

A line of static split across the screen as he went to look at the camera, his expression unreadable.

“Hi…Hi guys.” His voice – it was so quiet and raspy that, with the static showing up every few seconds, it was hard to hear him. He took a nervous glance around before returning his attention to the audience.

“I-I know this is going to come off as – as a bit of a shock for everyone, but,” He let out a stuttering sigh, lips trembling ever so slightly, “I need to confess something to you guys. You…You deserve to know the truth.”

There was a rather long pause as he dipped his head, a hand moving to gently massage his right temple; his hand soaked in a red substance, lines of it running down his arm. A very soft hiss could be heard coming from him, shaking his head slowly like he was fighting with himself on whether it’d be a good idea to tell his viewers or not. Releasing a shaky breath, Chase lifted his head and locked his eyes onto the lens, crimson-smudged fingerprints spotting his temple.

“I did…I did something horrible.” He was breathing in and out deeply, trying to remain calm. “That video – the Bro Average one that was posted…You guys must’ve all seen it by now.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I…I’m not going to lie to you all.” He stared at the camera sternly, wanting everyone to know he wasn’t fooling around, that this wasn’t some kind of joke. “I-I killed all of my neighbours and friends that day.” He said bluntly, not even bothering to sugar-coat any of it. He chuckled lightly like he himself couldn’t comprehend the thought. “I went and shot everyone I was close to…and I didn’t care.” A sad smile played at his lips as he shook his head. “I didn’t give a fuck about any of them.”

An unsettling giggle bubbled out of his throat, the screen momentarily becoming corrupted by static and glitches. Through the scattered mess, very faintly, his head could be seen twitching to the right violently. He clutched his head, a groan getting ripped from him. In seconds flat, the static cleared and he was sitting upright like before, still staring at the camera in disbelief.

“I shot every one of them dead,” He was still smiling, a tiny childish giggle leaving his lips, “and I didn’t feel anything.” He shook his head, taking a glance downward as though he was trying to hide the true pain glimmering in his eyes. He may have been smiling brightly and giving off the appearance of a psychopath who was proud of what they’d done, but he was hurting deep down – heart constricting into a tight knot – and it was driving him insane.

“And…And you know what?” He chuckled, a few glitches scattering across his face briefly. “You know what else happened?” He lifted his gaze, staring back at the camera. He shrugged his shoulders, looking off somewhere else before returning his attention to the audience. “Stacy – my wife…” He nodded, biting his lip harshly. His lips parted, struggling to get the words out. “I-I killed her.” He scoffed. “Can you believe it?...I-I put a bullet through her head.” 

His body seemed to ripple and become a tad distorted, a quick flash of the screen showing him lunging at the camera and growling, “ThE biTCh gOt wHaT waS cOMiNg tO hEr!”

The screen returned to normal, only to show Chase rubbing irritably at his right temple, smearing more blood all over his skin. A soft whimper slipped past his lips, clearly showing he was in agony. His body glitches out spastically then only to show him sitting upright again, looking off to the side, staring at something off-screen. 

“And…And that’s not even the worst part.” His voice cracked, sounding like he was truly dreading to confess what was coming next. He wasn’t looking at the camera anymore; his eyes were continuing to stare off into the distance as if he was reminiscing over the memory. “I…” He bit his lip hard, lowering his head and hanging it in shame. He shook his head before lifting his gaze to the camera. His eyes were shining now, beginning to water.

“I-I killed my kids.” It came out as a very soft choked-up whisper, a line of static racing across the screen and distorting his voice. 

The expression on his face – oh God, his expression.

The smile he had had a moment ago was still there, but it was struggling to stay there. It wasn’t a happy, proud smile anymore; this only displayed pain and heartache. The corners of his lips were twitching, having difficulty keeping the grin on his face. His eyes were filling up with tears, threatening to tip over the edge as his shoulders shook, battling with himself, not wanting to break down.

“I…I killed…I killed my…” His voice was trembling now, his gaze drifting away from the camera. 

He was choking up as he shifted his attention down to his blood-drenched arms. His eyes widened in horror as realization finally dawned over him. He remembered what he’d done.

“Oh…Oh my – Oh my G-God, oh my fuckin’ GOD!” His bloodied hands flew up to his head, gripping his hair and tugging at it harshly as he shut his eyes tightly, the tears getting set free. “NOOO! NOOO!” He screamed out in anguish. “W-Why? W-Why would I – H-How could I - ?!” He cried, his body twitching and glitching out as a projection of himself surged forward.

“M-MaKe IT – I-It StOp!” It pleaded, grasping the camera and shaking it roughly.

He yelped as pain channeled through his brain, causing him to keel over and dig his nails into his head. Memories of what he’d done flashed before his eyes - how he had blown his wife’s brains out heartlessly, how he had hugged his baby girl and boy and shot one before the other – blasting his daughter’s jaw clean off her face before blowing a chunk of his son’s away. Blood had sprayed everywhere, splattering across his face and chest. He remembered cradling them in his arms, crying out in pain and apologizing profusely.

Chase shook his head vigorously, heart clenching tightly as the tears kept coming. He was rocking back and forth now, running his red, sticky fingers through his hair as he cried.

“W-What’s wrong with me?” He sobbed, choking over his own words. He frowned and growled deep in his throat, jerking his head from left to right in a violent manner, tugging violently on his hair. His body rippled again, struggling to remain stable. “WhAT’s W-WroNg wiTh M-Me – Me – Me?!” He screeched, another manifestation of himself leaning towards the camera with a wild look in his eyes. “W-WhAt’s HaPpENinG?!”

The entire screen fell black for a fleeting second, Chase’s pained screams echoing before pixels scattered across the screen, pulling apart to show him sitting there, eyes red from crying and looking around with paranoia. He was shivering all over, hugging himself tightly. He kept taking nervous uncertain glances at the camera.

“S-Something’s - Something’s wrong…S-Someth-thing is wrong.” His head kept twitching and jerking, his words lagging and stuttering as they came out. “S-Something…Something happened to me.” 

He let out a shaky uneven breath, jumping suddenly and staring off-screen at something with wide eyes, like something had startled him. He shifted his attention back to the camera, shaking his head. 

“I-I had…I had shot myself and…a-and somehow – somehow,” His face got blurred out for a second, “I survived.” He stared at the camera for a long moment, tears spilling over and slowly running down his blood-spattered cheeks. “Th-The doc…h-he said…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, “h-he said that it was a miracle…That…” He sniffled, “That I sh-should’ve died, b-but – but I didn’t.” 

The entire screen spastically glitched out, very briefly giving the viewers a glimpse of him jerking his head wildly and screaming out in both pain and devastation, bawling his eyes out. The glitches settled down to show him leaning in close to the camera, staring at the lens with equal amounts of fear and confusion. He licked his lips, releasing a shaky breath and hesitating to ask.

“W-What…h-happened to me?” He asked in a pleading tone, desperately begging for an answer even though he knew he wouldn’t get one.

Everything in sight became severely distorted, his entire being vibrating and fiercely surging forward toward the camera.

“S-SoMeOne! H-HeLp – hELp M-M-ME!” 

Static corrupted the screen, nothing but the cries of anguish coming from the damaged man being heard. This lasted for a very uneasy prolonged minute, feeling as though it’d never end. And then suddenly, everything went black. Slowly but surely, the image began to fade in – a quivering, broken-down, infected green-haired American man looking at the camera with a mix of horror and sadness, choking on his sobs.

“I…I just want to…” He sniffled, “apologize…f-for – for everything I did.” His lips were trembling, cool tears running down over them as he struggled to speak. He shook his head. “I-I didn’t – I-I didn’t mean to…to do any of it, I-I swear.”

His body became distorted for half a second, a flicker of him blowing his brains out coming into view. He bit his lip, taking a moment to look away before returning his gaze to his audience. “I-I’m so sorry…” He cried at feeling blinding pain throb deep in his head. He winced and whimpered, raising a hand up to grip his head. 

“I-It hurts…Oh G-God, it hurts!” He sobbed. “M-Make – Make it stop! P-Please! J-Just – Just m-make it stop!” He pleaded like a child who had woken up from a nightmare, now desperately wanting their mommy and daddy to comfort them and reassure them it was all just a dream.

He felt an overwhelming amount of energy course through his veins, his vision throbbing and flickering bright red. He felt an uncontrollable urge to go and do something wicked – to make anyone and everyone pay for how they had treated him – and he groaned, making out the tiny voice in the back of his head insisting he go and do it.

“N-No…No, stop it, STOP IT!” 

The screen got overrun with static before he was staring at the lens again, desperation glimmering in his sore eyes.

“P-Please…I-If anyone sees th-this…” He sobbed softly, “d-don’t come looking f-for me.” He begged, shaking his head. “I-I’m not – I’m not okay. S-Something’s wrong with me, and I – .” He winced as his temple ached insistently. “I-I’m a danger…to everyone…” He sniffled, “a-and – and I’m a danger…to myself.” 

The clicking of something could be heard off-screen and his arms were moving a tad bit, evidently hinting at him fiddling with whatever was making the clicking. 

“J-Jack…” He sniffed, licking at the tears that ran over his lips, “J-Jack, if you see this – if you see this,” His head movement seemed to lag for a brief second there, “p-please…please promise me you w-won’t s-show this to the others…D-Don’t tell them.” He stopped himself, overcome with heart-wrenching agony at the thought of the other egos knowing the truth of what he’d done – what he had become. “P-Please don’t tell them, I’m begging you.”

There was a loud click-clack sound before he lifted the hand that was clearly holding something up to his head.

It was his gun.

He chuckled nervously, wet streams of sorrow lining his face as he pressed the barrel against his right temple, not taking his eyes off of the screen. 

“I-I’m…” He shut his eyes for a moment, his shoulders trembling from the force of his crying. He reopened his eyes and whispered softly, “I’m so sorry…P-Please…f-forgive – forgive me.”

He shut his eyes tightly, and right as he pulled the trigger, the entire screen went black; a loud ear-shattered BANG ringing out into white noise, accompanied shortly after with a wet splatter and a thud.

There was nothing for what felt like ages. The screen remained black with nothing but a soft static-laced sound for more than a minute. One would think the video was done, that there wasn’t anything left to see here. That’s what anyone would think…until a faint distorted chuckle of glee echoed through the eternal darkness.

**“You should have listened to me.”**

The entire screen erupted into endless lines of static and glitches, a figure producing from the mess. This figure wore the same face as Chase, although his hair was a darker shade of green, he donned black clothing and wore gauges in his ears, and there was no way of missing the deep gash along the width of his neck. He had a crazed look in his eyes as he glitched out into view, lifting a hand wielding a large kitchen knife and pointing it accusingly at everyone watching.

**“D-Do you see?”** His voice was scratchy and about as sharp as the blade he was holding, wavering from high-pitched to deep and inhuman. Another sinister chuckle rang throughout the room he was in.

**“D-Do you see w-what you’ve done?”**

His body jolted forward, glitching out spastically as he grabbed the camera and shook it violently, hissing through his teeth.

**“DO YoU SeE IT?!”**   
**“I told you – I told you all to pay attention.”**   
**“Y-You d-didn’t listen!”**

His figure was vibrating and tearing apart at the seams, trying to stay collected and stable. He let out a wicked laugh out of sadistic amusement, his face flickering then to reveal concealed rage and annoyance.

**“Is ThiS aLL a JoKE tO YoU?!”**   
**“You fools – You couldn’t – .”**  
 **“ENoUgH Of ThiS!”**  
**“You c-couldn’t even see through the lines.”**

Another eerie bone-chilling chuckle crawled out of his slashed up throat.

**“G-Going on about just how innocent he was.”**  
**“L-LiAr!”**

He cocked his head unnaturally, a gross crack emitting for it. He giggled with child-like happiness.

**“H-He was so weak – s-so easy – .”**  
**“F-FaCe - FaCE tHe FuCKinG TrUE!”**  
“S-So easy to get in-inside his damaged brain.”

He pointed his knife at the audience.

**“I t-told you all – told you all that it w-wasn’t over.”** He said, a growl to his voice this time. His head twitched spastically from the left to the right before his dark eyes fell back onto the camera.

**“Your favorite ‘boy’,”** He spat with distaste in a bit of a mocking tone, **“he w-was – was next in line to go. And look at what happened!”**

**“YoU DiD THiS!”**

He stopped himself, an awful, horrible toothy grin stretching across his pale-green face from ear to ear. He leered at the camera darkly as his fingers played along his knife.

**“Three down...two more left…”**

Static rippled across him violently, distorting his face greatly until the screen fell into an abyss of black.

**“Who will you sacrifice next?”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite a lot to say about this chapter. I posted it all on tumblr, which you can check it out here: http://thedarkenedkeeper.tumblr.com/post/167253543014/some-things-about-part-13-home


	14. You've Waited A Long Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned from beyond the grave! I LIVE!  
> First and foremost, I apologize for just how freakin’ long it took for me to get the next chapter out (I made a post awhile back on Tumblr regarding the hiatus, which you can see [here](http://thedarkenedkeeper.tumblr.com/post/170603677559/glitched-hiatus)). I know, I know, I don’t really need to apologize or anything, but I just feel it necessary. 
> 
> It’s been 4 months, guys! You have all had a LONG ENOUGH break. It’s time to return to the dark, painful, horrifying world of Glitched once again >:)
> 
> Now this’ll be a shocker for you all: There isn’t much to worry about with this chapter. There’s no major horror or any gore. There is some angst, but it isn’t extreme or anything (*cough*unlikePart13*cough*). So in a way, this chapter is nicely easing you guys back into the story without brutally attacking you. 
> 
> But I should warn you - this chapter had to be split into two separate parts due to how long it’s become. Meaning, you don’t need to worry about what happens in this chapter, it’s Part 15 you should fear ;)

_“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls – please remain in your seats! Sit back and relax! The best part of the show has yet to begin!”_

Out in the countryside, not too far away from a forked dirt road and a not-too-shallow marshy lake, stood a circus. _Marvin the Magnificent’s Miraculous Marvels_ – home to the one and only astounding magician known throughout the void, alongside his freakishly talented group of performers. 

Rising amongst the grass was a large, open tent lined with thick stripes alternating between plum purple and ice white. Strings of lime-green lights embellished the circumference of it, a brightly-lit sign hanging over the entranceway for all to see, presenting the title of the circus. A huge white mask in the shape of a cat’s head was positioned underneath with glowing-green eyes and practically hovering over the entrance; a deck of playing cards fanning out from behind it. Luscious purple curtains were drawn back, giving a warm welcome to anyone and everyone who would attend. As locals would come and line up outside to get their tickets, head-to-toe banners featuring each and every act for the night would stand tall and proud, showcasing the performers with soft periwinkle lighting. The situated poles suspending these banners were painted with the matching stripes of the main tent, a curtain of neon green streamers reaching from the first pole to the one opposite of it. 

Scattered amongst the field were numerous tents of varying sizes and colors, all offering different foods and games for the attendees. Whether it was using a large mallet to strike a pivot board to put your strength to the test or tossing rings at glass bottles in an attempt to win a prize, it was there. Deliciously warm aromas wafting from food vendors filled the night air – the scents of soft pizza crust, barbequed hotdogs, freshly-popped buttery popcorn, and the sugary-sweetness of mini donuts awakening anyone’s hidden hunger. A Ferris wheel here and a carousel there; a funhouse of mirrors that would surely give anyone a case of the giggles. Friendly clowns wandered about, making goofy faces and creating balloon animals for small cheery tots excited to see the show. 

There was so much to do, so much to see. Every child’s whimsical desires came to life before their very eyes. Once you entered the carnival, you found yourself being immersed in a whole new world of wonders, becoming enraptured by the tendrils of circus delights. You would never want to leave once you stepped foot on the property, and honestly, why leave when there was so much to take in?

Why leave when your soul would already become one with the carnival?

* * * * *

As attendees began to flood into the main tent, rushing to get the perfect seats before the show started, it was a madhouse backstage. Everyone was hastily moving about, getting ready for each of their own individual acts. Whether it was having to get into costume and makeup, searching for specific props and equipment, or quickly going over plans with a partner, everyone was overcome with equal parts anxiety and excitement to perform yet again. And one man in particular – the one man who was responsible for opening and closing the show – was currently drowning in those emotions.

Within his dressing room, a green-haired magician had just finished cleaning himself up. He stood tall in his suit in front of the vanity, the lightbulbs producing a warm glow as he slipped on his black tailcoat and straightened out the lapels. He reached for his white satin gloves and slid them on as well, taking a good look at himself in the mirror. His hands shook as he went to fiddle with his bowtie nervously, releasing a shaken breath at hearing all of the commotion going on outside. 

Why was he so anxious? He had performed many times before and absolutely loved every moment of doing it, so why was this any different? It was just another magic act. Sure, it’d be one he hadn’t actually done in front of an audience, and yes, there were probably some people who knew the trick behind it all, but no matter, all week he had been very eager to give it a go. And yet, here he was, his nerves getting the better of him. He leaned forward and rested his hands on top of the vanity, bowing his head, closing his eyes, and sighing deeply.

 _Come on, Marv. Get a grip. You shouldn’t be so nervous about this._ He told himself insistently. _It’s going to be alright. You’ve practiced numerous times over, each time going just as planned. Have some faith. Come on, calm down…Breathe…Just breathe._

He proceeded to inhale and exhale deeply, attempting to steady out his breathing and relax his nerves. After a minute of this, he reopened his eyes and lifted his head, standing up straight as he looked at himself in the mirror. He took a side-glance over to where his signature white cat mask sat perched over a mannequin face, patiently waiting to be worn by its owner. He grabbed for it and lifted it to his face, slipping it on and peering through the eye holes to meet his reflection’s gaze – not Marvin’s gaze but Marvin the Magnificent’s gaze. A half smile came upon his face before he reached over to pluck his silken top hat from the nearby hat rack. He twirled it around in his hands, humming uncertainly, trying to decide whether or not to wear it. His eyes locked back onto his reflection’s, raising the hat and letting it sit atop of his head.

A knocking came from the other side of his door.

“Yes?”

“It’s Lunette.” An elegant, bouncy voice answered. 

Marvin didn’t take his eyes off of the mirror, striking a pose – a hand on one of his lapels, the other holding the brim of the top hat, still indecisive about wearing it. 

“Come in.”

The door opened and in stepped a petite young woman – skin as pale and fair as a china doll and eyes so blue, it was like the ocean was sealed inside her irises. Her dark shoulder-length hair was done up in curls, a headband of forget-me-nots adorning her head, and her angelic face had been pampered with an array of blues; dark eyeshadow dusting her eyelids and gradually fading the closer it got to her brows, while her lips were dressed in a glittering navy blue gloss. Thin paths of icy azure weaved from her eyes and formed elegant swirls over her cheeks. She donned a midnight blue leotard speckled with an abundance of blue and silver sparkles, the entire back open yet laced up like a corset. She shut the door behind her as she entered the room, a smile coming onto her face at seeing the magician’s pose.

“The show will be starting soon.” She announced. “People are already filing into their seats out there. It’s going to be a full house tonight, that’s for certain.”

Marvin turned to see himself from the other side, yet again striking a most exquisite pose.

“Really? Well, we best give them a show to remember, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder to give her a smile.

Lunette beamed brightly, nodding in agreement. “Of course.” She seemed to be a tad on edge for some reason – Marvin could tell from her shifting from one foot to the other. His own smile faltered.

“Everything alright? You seem quite…nervous.”

Lunette released a soft breath and shrugged. “Well, yeah. I mean, there are a lot of people out there, Marv. And I know, I shouldn’t be like this – I’ve practiced my act so many times over, nothing could possibly go wrong. But there’s always that ‘what-if’ thought, you know?” She eyed him worriedly. “Do you ever get those kinds of thoughts? I mean, you’re the head of the entire show. You’re the one who calls the shots. Doesn’t…Doesn’t that ever stress you out?”

Marvin stood up straight, dropping his hands and staring at her rather seriously. 

“Well, yeah, of course it does. Everyone relies on me for everything to be perfect, and it does become stressful at times. And yeah, when it comes to my performances, I always get a bit anxious.” He admitted. “But that’s normal. It’s perfectly fine to be worried so long as you don’t let it eat you alive. Besides,” He scoffed, a playful smirk creeping onto his face, “what do you have to be worried about? Your act is always beautiful and miraculous, Lunette.” He poked her nose in a teasing fashion.

The aerial silks acrobat couldn’t help but giggle lightly, a faint blush blossoming in her cheeks. “Oh stop it. If anyone’s miraculous around here it’s you and you know it.”

Marvin chuckled and shook his head, taking a step back and returning his attention back to the mirror.

“No, _you_ and everyone else are the miraculous ones. _I_ am the magnificent one. It says so on the sign. You know, the one with the big cat mask and playing cards?” He grinned cheekily as he tightened his bowtie.

Lunette rolled her eyes. “Ha ha ha, very funny. Smartass.” She lightly nudged him, causing him to chuckle out of amusement. “But in all seriousness, you sure everything will work out alright tonight?”

Marvin took a brief glance at her, waving off what she was asking. “Yes, Lunette. Relax. You’ll –”

“I wasn’t just talking about me.”

Marvin stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to face her, question gleaming in his eyes.

“I know you’re nervous too – I saw it the moment I came in.” Lunette said, crossing her arms. Her brows were weaved together and the sweet smile she’d had a moment ago had been replaced with a small pout – she was evidently concerned.

Marvin shifted uncomfortably where he stood, tearing his gaze away. He didn’t like seeing her pretty face written with any sort of negative emotion, it left an awful pit in his stomach. It made him weak.

“I’m fine, Lunette. It’s nothing. Just a bit of stage fright, that’s all.”

“Stage fright? But you never get stage fright.” She stated matter-of-factly. “I know you, Marvin. You give it your all the moment you step foot on that stage.” 

He opened his mouth to retort back with something, but couldn’t find the right words to say. He knew she was right – she _did_ know him and if he were to lie, she would see right through it. She always saw right through him. Lunette shook her head and neared him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Marvin, look at me.” He was keeping his head down, looking anywhere but at her. “Hey.” She lifted her other hand to touch his face, gently caressing his cheek and tilting her head to try and meet his eyes. “Look at me.”

The magician sighed softly in defeat and lifted his head, his gaze fixing onto hers’. She searched his eyes for a wordless answer before reaching up to lift the top hat off of his head, pushing his cat mask up and away from his face so she could get a better look at him. Marvin wanted to turn away from her; he felt naked without his mask on. Without it, he felt like she could read him with ease, and unfortunately for him, that was very true.

“What’re you worried about?” She asked. “You’re always phenomenal out there. I don’t under –”

“Lunette,” He grasped her hand – the one on his cheek – and held it delicately, as though she were made of glass. His gloved fingers curled around hers’ as he slowly lowered her hand, not taking his eyes off of her, “please, believe me, I’m fine. I just…” He stopped, trying to think of a way to explain himself without worrying her further. He released a breath, “I just have a horrible feeling in my gut…And honestly, I don’t know why. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Lunette hummed with bemusement, taking a glance over at the door. “Well it is really busy tonight. Everyone’s been running around frantic like chickens with their heads cut off.” She turned back to him. “And your act – you haven’t done it in front of other people before, right?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave a sheepish nod. She continued.

“It seems like we’re all on the same page tonight; we’re all really uneasy. But hey,” A soft, warm-hearted smile appeared on her face, “I’m sure everything will be okay. I mean, if you believe in me, then I believe in you too.” She took a step back and spun Marvin’s top hat around in her hands, a spirited shimmer in her arctic orbs. “You’re not alone out there, you know.”

Damn her and her ways of being so sweet and cute. Marvin attempted to hold back a smile but found that he lost the fight, caving instantly and nodding with understanding.

“I know, I know.” He huffed and stood up straight, sliding his mask back over his face as he pulled himself together. He motioned for her to hand over the hat. “You going to give that back?”

Lunette smirked and maneuvered around him, hat still in hand. She spun around to where his vanity stood, inching closer to the hat rack.

“I don’t think you’ll need it. You’re Marvin the Magnificent!” She exclaimed, motioning out to him like he was the most amazing person to ever exist. “You’re a mysterious magician. You already have the cat mask – I’d say that’s mysterious enough.” With that, she whirled on her heel, hooked the top hat onto the rack, and headed for the door. 

Marvin chuckled lightly and watched her as she went to open the door. Lunette eyed him, giving him a hopeful smile.

“Good luck.” 

He returned the smile before she left, leaving him to practice his opening speech in front of the mirror. He had about ten minutes until the show would start. He could hear the commotion outside increase in volume, managing to overhear a few people questioning where certain things were, how tickets had actually been sold out for the night, and how many were excited yet scared to perform. Marvin slowly exhaled, as he was beginning to feel his nerves get the better of him again.

_Marv, come on. Relax. Just…Just focus on what Lunette said. Everything will be alright. Everything will be okay. Everything will –_

His train of thought got derailed at the abrupt knocking at the door. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, his eyes darting to the door with alarm.

“Yes, what is it?” He called out, a hand over his chest, feeling his poor heart race from being startled. 

He watched as Lunette popped her head in.

“Sorry, but someone’s here to see you.”

Marvin blinked, brows furrowing out of confusion. Someone was here to see him? Well who could that be? A fan maybe? He never got any visitors. Sure, every now and again one of the other egos would show up to be in the audience and view one of his shows, but aside from that, no one ever came to see him, especially not backstage. 

“Who is it?” He asked, genuinely curious to know who would want to see him before the show started.

Lunette shrugged. “I don’t know, he didn’t say his name. But he strangely looks exactly like you.” Her face scrunched up with puzzlement, cocking her head. “You don’t happen to have an identical twin, do you?”

The confusion was washed from Marvin’s face as soon as she said that. So it _was_ one of the others then. Okay, he could handle a brief visit from one of them.

“Let him come in.” He told her, a smile playing at his lips, wondering who he’d see this time. 

He was not expecting the man who strolled into the room. As soon as that man entered, any and all happiness the magician had been feeling was horribly robbed from him. His heart stuttered and almost immediately his blood began to boil, running hot through his veins. His fingers twitched, clenching into fists in a poor attempt to stave off the anger beginning to consume him. A haze of red was leaking into his vision and the commotion coming from out in the halls was fading out, getting replaced with the loud thumping of his own heart beating. He wasn’t paying attention to Lunette anymore, who happened to be right behind the green-haired man who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were boring deep into the unwanted guest and it was taking everything he had right then and there not to make a scene and drive his fist into the guy’s jaw. 

His creator was here.

Jack shifted awkwardly where he stood, his gaze travelling around the room so as to not meet the dead-cold stare coming from the ego. Eventually his eyes landed onto him, biting his lip before he spoke.

“Hi Marvin.”

Marvin didn’t dare say a word to him – not yet anyway. 

“Lunette, could you leave us be?” He didn’t take his eyes off of the Irishman. 

There was an increasingly discomforting silence growing between the two green-haired men and the angelic acrobat could sense a drastic shift in tension; her eyes alternating back and forth between them uncertainly.

“Umm…Okay, sure. Is…” She looked back at Marvin with concern, “Is everything alright?”

“Lunette,” This time Marvin’s gaze instantly shot to her, almost warningly. He felt like he was at the edge of his thread and he was going to snap any moment. And he most certainly didn’t want her around to see it – she didn’t need to see that side of him, “please. Leave.” 

Lunette noticed the stern tone of voice immediately; spotting the spark of fury in his eyes that was ready to go off. She didn’t argue with him; she gave a nod, muttered a soft “alright”, and proceeded to leave. As soon as she was gone, Jack shut the door behind him and slowly turned to look at the magician. Marvin was still staring at him with such hatred; he was half expecting lasers to fire from his eyes. He licked his lips, hesitating to speak.

“Big crowd tonight, huh? Must be nerve-racking.”

“What…the _fuck_ …are you doing here?” The magician seethed quietly, his figure tense and fists tightening at his sides.

Jack’s heart jolted out of nervousness, clearly feeling the hatred radiating off of Marvin’s body. He swallowed, taking note of how his throat had suddenly gone dry.

“I came to see how you’re doing.”

That only seemed to make matters worse if Marvin’s sharp intake of breath was anything to go off of. He scoffed and raised his brows in false surprise.

“You came to see how I’m doing? Seriously? You’re going with that load of shit?” He shook his head in disbelief, leaning forward a bit. “Fuck you, Jack.” He spat, returning his attention to the mirror, trying to distract himself with getting ready for the show.

Jack expelled a breath and went to move forward. “Marvin, come on, I –”

“No, _you_ don’t get to speak!” He whirled on his heel and glared at the Irishman, jabbing an accusing finger at him. Jack flinched and nearly stumbled backward at the unexpected action. “ _You_ don’t get a chance to explain yourself any more than how you didn’t give me another damn chance on the fucking channel.”

The YouTuber kept his mouth shut, giving the ego a chance to speak. He couldn’t even argue with him; he knew why the ego was mad with him and he couldn’t blame him. There was no excuse he could use to get out of this.

“You gave me one shot on the channel, Jack – one measly video that only made me come off looking like a clueless moron – and then that was it. I didn’t hear from you, I didn’t see you again. It was like you completely shut me out!” The magician snapped. “I thought maybe you were disappointed in me, that I was a disgrace, a failure as a magician and an ego.” He stopped himself to get in a few breaths of air, feeling his balled-up fists trembling from his pent-up rage.

Jack’s brows weaved together out of pity, opening his mouth to tell Marvin just how wrong he was, but he didn’t get a chance to get any words out. Marvin carried on, tearing his gaze away and taking a glance at his own reflection.

“But then I thought,” He licked his lips, “I thought ‘Okay, this is Jack you’re talking about, Marv. He would never abandon you – he would never forget you. He’s probably just busy with something important. There’s nothing to worry about’.” He chuckled sourly as though it were some cruel joke and it made Jack feel small all of a sudden. He jerked his head, his eyes darkening with severe resentment for the Irishman standing not too far away from him. “But then I realized that couldn’t be true because you would show up to check up on all of the other egos from time to time. Like the incident that happened with Chase. You showed up to check on him and make sure he was alright, and he hasn’t even been here as long as the rest of us!” 

He huffed, his body visibly shaking. The temptation to pummel the man’s face in was truly killing him. 

“I tried to tell myself otherwise, I genuinely tried to convince myself that I still meant something to you…But then a month passed…and then another one…and then another one.”

His voice was deepening with a growl the more he spoke, his hatred seeping into each and every word and striking his creator without mercy. He scoffed and shook his head, further put off at seeing what he deemed “false sympathy” plastered on Jack’s face.

“Do you know how long it’s been?” He queried, the tone in his voice softening, a shed of heartache lacing the end of the question. Jack tensed up and felt his heart clench uncomfortably at hearing it. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I last saw your face – the last time you actually came to see me, here in my part of the void?” He took a step forward, searching the Irishman’s eyes for any sign that the man actually cared about him.

Jack could see the pain behind that mask, behind those cerulean eyes. His lips parted with a longing to get out what he wanted to say – something that would reassure the ego that he wasn’t alone or forgotten – but he couldn’t speak. Any words that wished to be set free only got lodged in his throat, leaving him a mute fool. Marvin was actually giving him a chance to answer and he couldn’t even choke one out. The rage was beginning to manifest inside of the magician’s eyes once more upon receiving nothing but insulting silence from his creator.

“A year, Jack.” He hissed. “One whole goddamn year.” He punctuated each word slowly, really letting it sink into the YouTuber’s brain just how long he’d left Marvin to rot in the void. “For one whole year, I waited for you to show up here again. I waited for you to come and reassure me that everything was okay. I waited for you,” He inched closer to the green-haired man, his voice wavering a bit out of equal parts anger and sorrow, “to come back and give me another chance on the channel, to really let me show what I was capable of – to prove how I am a real magician, not a pathetic wannabe.” 

He could feel the anger starting to convert into sadness and a stinging sensation emerging from the back of his eyeballs, on the verge of tearing up. He swallowed hard, his nails biting through his gloves and into his palms in a poor attempt to stave off the need to cry. He couldn’t break down, not now. 

“Day after day, night after night, I would look into that mirror,” He thrusted a finger out at the vanity mirror, “and do you know what I saw?” He lowered his hand. “I didn’t just see Marvin the Magnificent…I saw a broken ego continuing to hold onto a hopeless, _useless_ belief that his creator hadn’t created him for the sake of being a one-time thing.”

Jack seemed to tense up greatly at hearing this, his heart feeling as though it was getting constricted cruelly. 

“And as each month passed, that belief began to wither away. I came to a realization: if you weren’t ever going to come back, well then what the fuck? Why should I let that cripple me, why should I let that break me down into nothing?” He spat with such distaste, his body actually trembled violently. “So guess what? I moved on. If you were going to forget about me, then I was going to forget about you. I carried on with making my part of this so-called _‘haven’_ livable and like a paradise, not for just myself, but for everyone else out there as well.” He said, motioning towards the door.

He stared the Irishman down, shaking his head slowly in disappointment.

“And now here you are, a year later; your excuse being that you ‘came to see how I’m doing’.” He scoffed and turned his back on the man, returning his attention to the mirror, desperately wanting to settle his nerves down. He had no time for these negative emotions. He regretted having told Lunette to allow the heartless bastard in; he should’ve waited until after the show. “Get the fuck out of my dressing room, Jack.”

“Now hold on, Marvin, please, just let me –”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The magician barked, whipping a hand out in Jack’s direction as to signal him to keep his damn mouth shut. “Nothing you can say will change what you did, Jack, and quite frankly,” He chortled sourly, “I’d love it if you’d burn in Hell right now.”

“Look, I’m sorry for everything I did – I really am. And I know, I know that that’s not going to help or make a difference.” Jack tried. “I know that’s not what you want to be hearing from me right now, and honestly, I can’t blame you for hating me.”

Marvin didn’t say a word, fearful of what he’d retort back with. He couldn’t allow his vile temper to get any more worse than it already was.

“But please – _please_ – let me help you out with something, anything! Let me make up for that whole year.” The Irishman pleaded desperately.

“Jack.” There was a bit of a growl to his voice, warning emitting from the name.

“Marvin, please.” Jack stalked up to him, immediately moving to stand right in front of the magician so he had no choice but to face him. “Let me do something for you. Come on, work with me here.”

The magician’s eyes glided to him, still unearthly with intense loathing. Jack searched them for any sign of consideration. There was barely any.

“Jack, I swear to God, I –”

“Come on, there has to be _something_ I can do for you.” He took quick glances at the door, hearing the commotion outside. “You’re performing tonight, right? A trick you’ve never done in front of others? Well what is it? Maybe I could help.”

Marvin pushed him aside and went across to the other side of the room where his cape lay, picking it up and contemplating whether to wear it or not.

“I don’t need your help.”

Jack huffed, striding up to him. He wasn’t going to back down until the magician caved and gave him something to do.

“You sure about that? Come on, talk to me. You said it yourself; you want to be considered a real magician, right? Well this is your time to shine; your time to prove it.” 

Marvin froze where he stood, staring at the cape with thought but it was no longer about wearing it.

“Come on, what’s your act for tonight?”

Marvin shook his head, not turning to look at him. “You’ll only laugh.”

Jack gasped with fake shock, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m hurt that you think that, Marv.”

There was a loud knock at the door that startled both of the green-haired men, both of their heads jerking in the direction of where the door was.

“Three minutes, Marvin!” Someone called out.

“I’ll be out in a second!” Marvin answered back.

Jack immediately stormed up to him. “Come on, what is it? Tell me.”

The cat-masked magician let out a dragged out exasperated breath, flinging the cape away with disregard. “I’m going to be sawing someone in half, alright? That’s my act: the ol’ ‘sawing someone in half’ trick.”

There was a bit of a prolonged pause, and when he went to look at the Irishman, the man was humming softly in bemusement. Marvin scoffed.

“See? I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“No no, it’s nothing like that! It’s a good trick.” Jack quickly assured, putting his hands out to put a halt to the man’s assumptions. “It is. It’s just…” He hummed again, his expression contorting into one of thought, “it’s a trick a lot of people know. You need something different, something that your audience has never seen before.”

The magician crossed his arms, his stance rather defensive. “But they’ve never seen me do this trick before.”

“Yes, I know, I get that, but everyone’s heard of that trick before. I’m just saying you need to change things up, give them something completely new, you know?” He explained as he began to circle Marvin, lost in a state of thought. “Something that’ll ‘wow’ them, something that they will never forget!”

Marvin groaned with frustration, eyeing the door with an urge of impetuosity. “Well what do you expect me to do? I have to be out on stage in two minutes; I can’t just decide to change my whole act right now! Besides, even if I could, what the hell would I do if not – ?”

Jack’s eyes suddenly lit up with excitement, an idea popping into his head. He stopped dead in his tracks, whirling around to grab Marvin by the shoulders.

“A death-defying act!”

There was a beat. Marvin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A death-defying act!” The Irishman repeated with enthusiasm, a bright lively smile on his face. He was waving his hands at him as though he expected the man to be on the same page as him.

Marvin did not look impressed, if anything he was all the more confused. “A death-defy – ?” He shook his head, evidently not seeing where the Irishman was going with this. “Jack, this is a carnival. We already have a few acts like that. I’m a _magician_ – I do _magic_. I don’t under –”

“No, listen, hear me out for a second, alright? What if you did a magic act that involved you nearly dying? What if _you_ were to put _your_ life on the line?” He noticed the puzzled yet alarmed expression on the magician’s face and he waved a hand at him while adding, “Obviously you wouldn’t actually die. Nothing bad would happen – it’s a magic act after all, it’s all in the illusion. You’d be perfectly fine, but everyone else would be in for quite a fright.” He reassured him, lightly chuckling at the idea of the audience being horrified only to later laugh it all off. “I’ll help you through it all so nothing goes wrong. Come on, it’d be fun! Wouldn’t it be great to get a reaction out of your audience?”

Marvin’s facial expression twisted up with uncertainty, like the idea deeply bothered him. He only had a minute to kill – he couldn’t just change his entire act without having rehearsed and practiced. And to do an act involving himself as a victim…

“Hmm…I don’t know.” 

“Marvin, you know me. Have I ever let anything bad happen to you before?” The Irishman asked, the smile having disappeared to show that he wasn’t joking around and wanted to shed light on how he genuinely did care about the ego. “Look, if you really don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you into doing anything that’ll make you uncomfortable.” He said with sincerity. He shrugged, a sheepish smile slipping onto his face. “I’m only trying to help, that’s all.”

The magician believed him, and he did have a point; Jack had never let anything bad happen to him before, he always looked out for him and the others. He parted his lips, hesitant to give an answer when he suddenly heard an increase in loudness from outside his door.

“Marvin, we’re ready when you are!”

He stared at the door for a drawn out minute, lost in a state of contemplation. He slowly turned to face his creator, taking in the curious yet impatient expression on his face. Jack raised a brow.

“Well? What’s it going to be, Marvin the Magnificent?”

Marvin looked at him, then back at the door, and then back at the Irishman. His eyes narrowed with interest.

“What did you have in mind?”

Jack didn’t say anything. All Marvin received was a toothy, jack o’ lantern-like grin stretched impossibly wide across his creator’s face.

* * * * *

Within the tent, all seats were filled with locals of all ages, talking to one another and eagerly anticipating the start of the show. They were all just waiting to see the mysterious cat-masked magician stroll onto the stage to greet them with a warm welcome. What they didn’t know was that Marvin the Magnificent wasn’t going to be the one to open up the show that night. They didn’t know what they were in for. 

They had absolutely no idea what horrors awaited them.

The lights began to dim down, shadows encasing everyone and slowly but surely stealing their voices away; loudness dying to petite whispers before there was eerie silence. It was dark and dead quiet, leaving everyone to patiently wait for a sign. No one would notice – or be able to see, for that matter – but standing tall at the dead center of the stage was a figure, practically looming over the audience. With just how dark it was, it was rather difficult to make out any features, but this thing, whatever it was, was incredibly bony; its arms, legs, everything about it was prominently skeletal. It was hunching over, its head jerking violently every few seconds as it moved slowly from side to side, seeming to be scanning the room. Its figure was twitching and having chunks of it distort away, getting tugged and pulled at in a fit of pixels. A very faint raspy giggle came from the misshapen thing, but no one heard it.

It didn’t want them to, for they would soon see it sure enough.

Very suddenly, a blinding light severed the internal darkness; a spotlight directed at the stage and bringing everyone’s attention to the man standing atop of it. The ethereal creature that had been shrouded in mystery a second ago was no longer there. In its place stood Jack donning the attire of a ringmaster. He still wore his torn black jeans and shoes, but everything else he had borrowed from Marvin. A white dress shirt, a bolo tie oddly resembling a septic eye, a black and forest green tailcoat with vertical stripes lining the cuffs and glistening gold fastenings on the lapels, a pair of white gloves, and of course, Marvin’s top hat resting on his head – he truly gave the appearance of a showman from the circus. He stood proud with a bright smile etched onto his pale face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls – welcome to tonight’s _miraculous_ show!” He announced with much gusto, thrusting both of his hands out and up into the air. He motioned out to the audience, tilting his head slightly. 

“Now I know what you’re all thinking: Wherever could Marvin the Magnificent be?” He looked around with question as though he himself was wondering where the magician was. “Shouldn’t he be the one up here talking to you all right now?” 

He gazed back out at the viewers. 

“Well you’d be correct! But we’re going to try something different tonight, you see.” He flashed a confident smile. “Dear ol’ Marvin will be saving his act for last, as he will be performing something so astounding, you may just find yourselves leaving later tonight with your minds completely blown!” He was very animated with how he said it, his eyes widening with exhilaration, a wide grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his hands motioning from his head outward, giving the impression of having his mind blown.

Everyone got a reaction out of that, a sea of chuckles and childish giggles erupting throughout the tent. A few even applauded with amusement, evidently excited to see what was in store for them. Jack chuckled at their enthusiasm and stood up straight, clasping his hands together.

“Well I’m glad you’re all looking forward to it. You’re all in for a real treat tonight, folks!” He beamed, bowing forward a bit as to really set into their heads that he was telling the truth. He stood tall yet again, taking a step to the side and opening his arms wide, gesturing to the large purple curtain draped behind him. “Behind this curtain lies an array of extraordinary wonders, all ready to astound and dazzle you! All ready to grant your every wish!” 

Jack slowly lowered his hands as he took a step forward, a brief smirk playing at his lips as he bowed his head. He eyed the audience with a look of forewarning, lifting a finger and wagging it at them.

“But I must warn you, not everything is as it seems.” He informed. “Some of tonight’s acts may frighten you. Some may disturb you to the core.” 

His voice was bordering on sounding rather ominous now for some reason. He was still smiling brightly and came off very friendly, but the gleam of excitement that had been in his eyes – the excitement that still remained – seemed different all of a sudden. Almost like he was thrilled about something else entirely that no one knew about except for him. 

“There may be things that send pins and needles down your spine.” He said with a wicked smile, staring down one half of the audience. He cocked his head, gliding to the other side of the stage and focusing on the other half. “There may be things that wriggle and writhe in your gut with nausea.” The words slid off his tongue with sickening fervour, his smile twisting into a demented grin. He chuckled lightly, and though it came out sounding bubbly and kind, there was an underlying feeling of malicious intent. “Quite possibly literally.” 

A few children in the audience giggled, obviously not seeing through the man’s disturbing choice of words. A majority of the adults, on the other hand, were struggling to keep smiles on their faces, a sense of dread working through their veins. Jack giggled along with the children and nodded.

“You like the sound of that, huh?” He chuckled. “It’s best to be wary tonight, little ones. You never know what may be lurking out there in the shadows. Some of our performers – sometimes they jump off of the stage to enter the audience, and well…” He stopped, moving his hands in a way that clearly expressed he was trying to choose the proper wording. He shrugged, “they tend to be,” His eyes slowly shifted back to the audience from under the brim of his hat, a cruel smirk on his pale face, “quite ravenous from time to time.” He chortled rather darkly. “Who knows what you’ll find slithering and sliding under your seats, longing for a bite?” He said, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers in a creepy fashion.

Still, quite a few children laughed and squealed with delight, oblivious to how the man on stage was strongly implicating how they would probably be eaten sometime during the show. This didn’t go unnoticed by the adults though. A murmur of soft whispers arose, everyone here and there beginning to question what was going on. Jack took the hint and chuckled lightly, raising his hands.

“I’m only kidding, folks, no need to worry! I’m sure nothing like that will happen.” He paused, glancing down at the rows down in front of him. “However, I probably should mention this,” He gestured to the people seated in those rows, “you people down front – you may or may not be in a ‘Splash Zone’ area. Just giving you the heads up now.” He snickered. “Someone always ends up breaking a leg, coughing up their guts, or losing their head, if you know what I mean.” He winked, cackling at the insinuation.

There were a few gasps in the audience, but most of them ended up laughing, thinking everything that was being said was just a joke – something to scare them for fun. The green-haired man smirked and shook his head.

“I’m kidding, of course. After all, this is a carnival, a circus, a madhouse of a magic show!” He exclaimed. “Everything you see tonight will have been practiced and rehearsed and will be a part of the show. Everything will be one big act. If anything begins to feel too real, just remember that: Everything is just one big act!” He reassured everyone with a childish giggle. “And by God, we are going to give you one _hell_ of a show tonight!”

Everyone cheered and applauded at that, all on the edge of their seats for the show to start. Jack’s smirk stretched as he raised both of his arms to either side.

“Now, without further ado,” He took a step back, moving to bow. He lowered his head, and as he did, he…seemed to change. 

Everything seemed to change, actually.  
The atmosphere in the tent, it was…off. 

There was something vile and putrid skulking through the audience, locking onto its prey. It appeared darker in the tent now, the shadows growing larger and more menacing. From them, long, unearthly tendrils protruded, slithering and maneuvering their way silently through the rows of unsuspecting attendees. Finding their targets, they weaved up the chairs of the audience members and before anyone knew what was happening, the shadows latched onto their hosts; immediately rewiring their brains and fogging every single person up with a macabre liking for the horribly morbid. 

Jack’s head was still down, but a twisted, knowing smile was creeping across his face.

His figure – maybe it was a trick of the lighting, but it was almost like his body was glitching out a bit. Pixels ripped from his person and lines of static surged across his limbs. Slowly, his clothing began to shift and alter. The tails of his coat fell apart, hanging limply in strips, while the lower part of the coat became tattered and torn; an array of tears scattered along it. Small pin-sized holes broke out all across his coat, black thread knitting through each one at a fast rate; crudely stitching up the entire jacket. With a flick of his right wrist, a knife materialized into the Irishman’s gloved hand; his fingers coiling around it possessively. His shoulders began to shake, a sinister, bone-chilling laugh crawling out of his throat.

His bleeding, slit-open throat.

He slowly raised his head to gaze out at the newly enraptured audience, an awful, horrible grin on his face. Something came into view on the curtain behind him, the entire thing glitching momentarily only to reveal something crimson and wet oozing down the purple velvet. There appeared to be letters written on the curtain, all in what could only be blood if the overwhelming stench of copper was anything to go off. The man on stage jerked his head to the left unnaturally, a slight twitch to his neck as he did so. His eyes flickered, becoming cloaked in the exact darkness that was corrupting the attendees. He gave a bow, arms extended out to either side of him, as he said the three words splattered on the curtain.

Three words which filled him with twisted glee. Three words that came out in a distorted, hoarse voice that most certainly did _not_ belong to Jack.

**“Enjoy the show.”**


	15. Good Puppet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought it’d take longer for me to get this chapter out, didn’t you? Well you thought wrong!
> 
> I don’t even know where to begin with this chapter, so I’ll just say this: This is a whole new level of fucked up. Also BIG WARNING: This chapter contains detailed gory descriptions. There is severe torture and mutilation throughout. A character experiences extreme trauma - both physically and emotionally - all throughout the entirety of the chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy the show, everyone! ;)

Endless darkness enveloped him, a sea of black in his wake. His senses had all seemed to shut off, not being able to see, hear, or feel anything. He almost felt like he was falling through a never-ending abyss of nothingness. 

Where was he? Hadn’t he just been speaking with Jack a moment ago, right before he was supposed to go on stage and open up the show? What had happened?

Slowly but surely, very faintly, his hearing began to come back to him. He couldn’t really make out anything though; everything was quiet and muffled and seemed rather distant. The magician groaned softly, a sudden jolt of pain striking his brain. His head felt extremely heavy and he felt incredibly drowsy and out of it. Had he been drugged? No, his head hurt far too much – he must’ve been physically knocked out. But by who and why?

Expelling sluggish, shallow breaths, he felt himself roll his neck, head hanging low; struggling to lift it. He could barely even get himself to open his eyes given just how languid he was. He had little to no energy, almost no motivation at all to move, but he needed to try. Something didn’t feel right and he needed to wake up.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut due to the agony channelling through his cranium, he weakly gave an attempt to pry his eyes open. They were barely open, his eyelids straining to stay up as he tried to make out his surroundings. He wasn’t wearing his mask – or if he was, then it had been pushed back on his head – and everything was a complete blur, blinding blotches of color here and there. His hearing wasn’t helping him either. He could make out soft, elegant music, as well as a few voices, but it still all remained faint and indecipherable. He groaned at feeling the pain throb in the back of his skull, most likely the origin of how he’d been knocked unconscious. He grimaced, going to lift a hand to caress the back of his head, but to his surprise, he couldn’t raise his hand at all. His brows weaved together out of confusion as he went to move his hand again only to feel something dig into his skin, keeping his wrist in place and immobile. Marvin blinked groggily, his face contorted with question. He breathed deeply, giving his other hand a tug to see if the same thing would happen. Sure enough, that hand was in the exact same predicament.

Now the magician was really concerned. Why couldn’t he move his hands? He squeezed his eyes shut again, shaking his head in hopes to get himself out of the foggy haze. The graceful yet older piece of music he had been having difficulty hearing a moment ago was beginning to drift through his ears, finally being able to hear it properly. He recognized the choice of music immediately: It was the piece used for Lunette’s act. He reopened his eyes, still quite dazed but he was coming to. He gave a feeble tug at both wrists, his breath hitching slightly when he vaguely made out what looked like duct tape wrapped around his wrists, keeping them strapped down to the chair he was seated in. He began to twist and turn in his seat, trying to pull his hands free from their bonds.

A symphony of gasps and shrill shrieks rang throughout the room. A loud abrupt thud, shortly followed by an ear-piercing shattering, came from a few feet away from him.

It immediately tore the magician out of his dazed state of mind. He jumped in alarm, bolting upright and eyes blowing wide with fright. His attention instantly zeroed in on what was laying on the ground in front of him. At first, he couldn’t even figure out what he was looking at. There were shards of what seemed to be pale porcelain, stone, or ice (he couldn’t tell, the lighting was effecting his vision) scattered all across the ground in all different jagged shapes and sizes, all surrounding and seeming to have originated from the human-like figure remaining a still, broken mess on the stage. It almost looked like a statue or an ice sculpture of sorts, what with how placid it was and how its skin appeared hard and glossy under the spotlights. The shattered figure must’ve been of a woman – Marvin couldn’t see its face since it was facing the other way, but it had short dark hair in curls, lovely flowers adorning its head, and a beautiful, glittering…midnight blue leotard…with the back laced up like a corset…

Marvin’s heart stuttered, a painful beat panging against his ribcage. His stomach churned, long-lost nausea wriggling through his guts, and all time and space fell impossibly still.

No…No, it couldn’t be…

He quickly glanced upward to see where this figure had fallen from. Another pang came from deep in his chest at seeing two long silky strands of blue fabric, both securely wrapped around what looked like a set of corpse-white legs; presumably having been broken away from their owner. Finding himself struggling to breathe properly, let alone even comprehend what was going through his head, Marvin directed his attention back to the crippled heap of porcelain on the ground, finally taking in the sight before him. 

This severely damaged statuette was _not_ a statue at all. He wasn’t staring at a porcelain, stone, or ice sculpture – this woman was a human being, made up of flesh and bone. Her skin was deathly pale, so much so to the point it was ice blue. Actually, now that Marvin could see her clearly, he realized with horror that there was a reason why she looked so cold: her entire body was frozen. She was covered in a thin layer of frost, and the parts of her that had broken off displayed sheets of bruising-purple muscles. Both of her legs were gone; her left one having cracked at the knee, while her right had gotten torn out of its socket. Cracks lined her arms, a few areas appearing as though they were on the verge of crumbling inward. There wasn’t any blood, given how it was frozen solid all throughout her body.

Marvin’s breaths were coming out shaky and uneven now as he stared in horror at the fragmented beauty lying not too far from him. He parted his lips, her name right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t speak. His throat had gone painfully dry and he honestly felt sick to his stomach at the very thought of the sweet, angelic woman being dead. He wanted to scream and cry and demand to know what the hell was going on. He swallowed, hesitant to say a word.

“L…L-Lun –?”

A scream got caught in his throat at seeing the broken body jerk, a soft, scratchy groan expelling from her. One of her hands clawed at the ground weakly before slowly moving to try and push herself up. Another raspy groan got dragged out of her as she struggled to sit up, cringe-worthy snapping and cracking of her skin and bones echoing throughout the tent. Marvin sat paralyzed in horror, mouth hanging agape and facial expression contorted into one of disturbance. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the icy acrobat, and he most certainly couldn’t hear the uproar of cheers and applause coming from the audience who had been watching the unearthly display. 

“Our ludicrous Frostbitten Lunette, everyone!” A familiar Irish voice announced with zest. “She may be cold as the dead, but she will absolutely fall to pieces for anyone and everyone!” The man cackled wickedly. “It seems she just can’t keep herself together without breaking a leg – literally!” 

The audience exploded into a sea of laughter, applauding both the announcer’s commentary as well as the aerial silks acrobat, who was quite literally damaging her insides as she pushed herself to sit up. The woman finally sat up straight, a horrendous crunching sound emitting from her back as she did so. Her head dropped forward, a breath released from her frostbitten lips before turning her head slowly to look out at the audience, then down at herself, staring emotionlessly at her nonexistent legs. She jerked her head, an awful, unsettling snap producing from the motion.

“I can’t feel my legs.” The way she said it – it wasn’t just how raspy her voice was, how she sounded as though her vocal cords had been ground up in a garburator. It was how she sounded dazed and out of it, like her brain was too slow to process how the reason she couldn’t feel her legs was because she didn’t have them at all. The words were drawn out of her mouth lazily, making her come off like she was in a trance of sorts, like she was completely unfazed by what had happened to her a minute ago.

Though her voice had been butchered, Marvin immediately recognized it and his poor heart coiled in on itself at hearing it.

“L-Lunette?” He croaked out, panic rising in him as he dreaded to see the acrobat’s face.

The frozen woman’s head jerked up violently, a nauseating cracking coming from her spine that caused Marvin to press his back into the back of his chair out of discomfort. Slowly, she turned her head and locked her gaze onto the magician. There was nothing in those sunken eyes. They were a foggy white, glazed over with something – Marvin didn’t know what – but whatever it was, it was keeping her from realizing what was really going on. There was no fear, no suffering, no shock – absolutely devoid of showing any normal human emotions.

“M…Mar-vin?” She shuttered, her head cocking the other way, almost looking at him with question. 

She stared at him with those dead-cold eyes for a prolonged minute before she sluggishly shifted her attention back down to her legless body. 

“My legs hurt.” She drawled out. Yet again, her words came out with little to no emotion, not even remotely aware that her legs had been torn away and were still suspended above her.

Marvin’s breathing picked up, leaning forward and tugging a bit at the bonds keeping him attached to his chair.

“Oh my God, Lunette, what – what’s –?”

He didn’t get to finish his question, as something fell from above him; hitting the ground violently and exploding into large chunks. He sucked in a sharp breath at seeing the fractured remains of Lunette’s frostbitten legs; most of her blackened toes having flown off her feet at the impact. Marvin was greatly disturbed by the sight, but Lunette – she seemed very unresponsive. She wasn’t startled, nor had she come to the conclusion of the daunting situation she was in. She merely took a glance at her legs and arched forward, reaching a hand out to grab one of them. 

Just as she took hold of one, a mangled creature of sorts – something of which looked an awful lot like a young boy no more than seven years old – scurried across the stage and bee-lined straight for the other leg. This boy (if that’s what it was) was down on all fours, his back legs contorted in a way with the knees caved inward and his arms gaunt and brought in close to his chest, all coiled up and deformed. Ragged clothing hung from his skeletal limbs, his rigid bumpy spine protruding through his shirt. His face was mainly hidden by the stringy nest of hair draped over his wild eyes, a monstrous growl rumbling out through his malformed teeth. This thing darted for Lunette’s severed leg and immediately lunged for it, first digging its rotting nails into the icy flesh before opening its jaws wide and snapping down. Lunette frowned and went to move forward, going to attempt getting her leg back, but it only caused the creature to hiss and stagger backward. The audience got a rise out of it, a wave of laughter filling up the tent. A childish, eerie giggle rang out through the tent, causing all of the hairs on the back of Marvin’s neck to stand on end.

“I’d say someone enjoyed her act very much, wouldn’t you agree?” The announcer said, another giggle followed shortly after. 

Lunette stretched her other arm out, digging her chipped black nails into the stage to try and pull herself towards the wretched being currently gnawing on her detached leg. One move was all it took for the thing to snarl at her warningly before racing off stage with the leg clamped between its teeth.

“Damn it, Tino, no. Give it back.” The acrobat whined, not even trying to go after the little heathen.

Marvin’s eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing quickening at a rapid pace. Wait, Tino? As in “dog trainer” Tino? The little boy who always amazed him with his dog act and would normally drop by his dressing room to get tips on performing – that Tino? Marvin gawked in horror, watching the misshapen monstrosity disappear back into the shadows. There were other figures standing in those shadows, a few sets of glowing eyes piercing through the darkness and watching everything unfold on stage. Marvin’s face scrunched up with puzzlement, squinting his eyes in a poor attempt to see what any of those beings were. He immediately regretted doing so.

The figures backstage were all of different shapes and sizes, all with some sort of human-like stature. He could only assume they were his performers, but the way they each looked – not a single person was okay. They had all become terribly mutilated and malformed, masses of flesh made up of stitches, growths, and more or less appendages. It was nearly pitch black behind the curtain so he couldn’t fully make out everyone, but there were a few who made the blood drain from his face. 

A bulky beast-like man standing seven feet tall with sharpened-to-the-tip bones jutting out from along his back was holding what looked like a long thick sheet of fabric at first glance. Upon adjusting his eyes, Marvin realized with stomach-turning shock that there was a flimsy, limp woman draped over the man’s bulging arms, flexing all the way back to her heels. Her entire body appeared to be spattered with an abundance of shades of yellows, greens, and purples, and there were thin streams of red running down from her mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. Her expression was in a petrified state of horror, not moving a muscle. There was a large jar down at the hulk’s feet, the lid removed and filled with some kind of fluid. Marvin’s jaw dropped in a silent scream when he saw the man ruthlessly start to shove and stuff the woman’s paper-thin cadaver into the jar, grunting with effort as he pushed to fit her inside. Marvin felt a vomit-inducing sourness fill his mouth, gagging at the sight.

His eyes travelled to behind the heap of muscle, noticing movement. There was a man whose face and body were so horrifically deformed it was hard to believe he was even a man to begin with. A good portion of his face was bulging out with revolting boils and growths, major sores of deep purple spotting his frail body. He was pulling at both of his cheeks, stretching out the flesh to test its elasticity. It wasn’t going well, what with how a part of his right cheek was starting to tear. Marvin tore his eyes away in disgust only to then see another abnormality standing beside the man. Two people – one male, one female – seemed to be attached together side-by-side; their closest arms fused into one, their legs in the same state. A three-legged, three-armed amalgamation. And as if that wasn’t already unsettling enough, there were what looked like pins, needles, and nails embedded into their form, sticking out all across their arms, legs, chests, backs, and faces. Their clothes were entirely comprised of patches of different patterned fabrics, inexpertly stitched together like the sutures lining their dead-white faces. To Marvin’s eyes, they gave off the appearance of a living voodoo doll. He was forced to rip his gaze away at seeing the woman proceed to jam a spike into her counterpart’s neck.

What the _fuck_ was going on? He had so many questions racing through his head, and although he wanted answers, he didn’t know if he truly wanted to know the truth as to why he was bound to a chair, why Lunette was a frozen crippled corpse, why there had been a malignant _thing_ – who had apparently once been known as the young Tino – on stage, chewing away at one of Lunette’s dead-cold limbs, or why pretty much his entire circus had been converted into a ghastly horde of aberrations. 

He wrenched violently at his bonds, rocking the chair in the process as he watched Lunette claw at the ground, feebly pulling herself towards backstage, presumably to try and get her dismembered leg back. Marvin’s eyes darted down to his wrists, growling through his teeth as he mustered all of his strength. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find Jack and get help. With a tear and a snap, the tape around his left wrist came undone, and without hesitation, he immediately pulled his wrist free and tore the tape away from the other. He sprung to his feet and went to race to Lunette’s side only to slip on a piece of her frozen flesh and hit the ground hard on his back. He yelped, a whole new pain weaving along his spine as he pushed himself to sit up. It was at that moment when he made out an array of gasps and fits of laughter, along with the voice of the announcer – a very distinct voice. One of which he knew far too well.

“Ah, look who has finally awoken, everyone! Look who has awakened just in time for the main event!” 

Marvin froze in his place; his wide eyes darted off to find the ringmaster staring right back at him, an expression of purely defiled glee written all across his sickly pale face. The magician felt his stomach drop and his blood run ice cold at seeing the man’s face. 

It was Jack.

But it couldn’t be him – _it couldn’t be_. Everything that was going on, all of these nightmarish things, none of it could be Jack’s doing. Jack would _never_ do such a thing. Yes, Marvin may have hated him with every fiber of his being for a year, and yes, he had snapped at the man, not holding back on just how much he despised him for what he had done. But there was not a chance in hell Jack would ever do something as horrendous as this. Even if he was put off with how Marvin had acted, he still wouldn’t put the magician through his own personal hell. The Irishman was too pure and kind-hearted to commit such a crime. But the longer Marvin stared at that face twisted up with wrongful happiness, and the more he dwelled on the thought of how he’d been forgotten for a year, he was beginning to doubt if he even knew the real Jack. He scuttled backward before getting to his feet, never taking his eyes off of his creator.

“J-Jack?” Perplexity was all over his face, but there wasn’t just that. Fear was mixed in as well, especially what with how a completely fragmented Lunette was dragging her frozen, crumbling carcass across the stage.

Jack’s cruel smile grew larger at hearing the magician stutter out his name. He could hear the fear seeped into his voice and it only made him all the more delighted. With a skip in his step, the ringmaster practically cavorted over to where Marvin stood shaking like a leaf. He went to put a hand on Marvin’s shoulder, but the magician instantly shuffled away from him with caution racking his nerves. Jack tilted his head out of amusement at seeing the man’s reaction to him.

“Everything alright? You seem quite…nervous.” The words slid out of his mouth with mockery. 

Marvin jolted, staring at the man with a horrible hybrid of bewilderment and fright. Those words – those were the exact same words he had said to Lunette when he had seen how worried she had looked. But how could he –

The man slowly took a wary step backward, keeping his eyes fixed on Jack. He shook his head, trying to convince himself this was all some sort of dream or trick. It wasn’t working.

“What – What the _fuck_ is going on?!” He was having difficulty keeping his voice steady. 

He couldn’t deny how disturbed he felt. Everything felt so vile and wrong. The air was tainted with something insidious and downright rotten. It felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes all trained on him and it wasn’t just coming from the audience or the Irishman standing before him. Something revolting had corrupted his sanctuary – his haven, his part of the void – and he swear he could feel this disease scratching at his flesh, longing to defile every inch of him until he’d become just as lost and deranged as everything else around him. 

“W-Why are you dressed like that? Why was I bound to a chair?” He took a quick glance over to where Lunette had crawled backstage. “Why the _fuck_ is Lunette like that?! Why the _fuck_ is Tino some – some monstrous _thing?!_ Why the _fuck_ are my performers like _that?!”_ He pointed to backstage, where low hisses and growls resounded. “What the _fuck_ did you do?!” He demanded, nearly slipping over another piece of Lunette’s frozen meat.

Jack only chuckled, not being able to conceal his mirth, which in turn only caused Marvin to tense up all over. 

“Oh come now, Marvin. There’s no need to be like that. I did you a favour – I fixed everything for you. I fixed them all for you! Besides, you shouldn’t fret. After all, it’s only a part of the show, ain’t that right folks?!” He exclaimed, lifting both of his arms as he twirled around to look back out at the audience.

Everyone cheered and clapped with enthusiasm in response. Marvin stood stunned, shaking his head as he backed away from the ringmaster.

“No…No, this is wrong. This is all wrong.” He shook his head vigorously. “You said you were going to help me with the show – you said you were going to help me with my act. And-And instead I wake up,” His breathing was coming out ragged now, panic showing itself as clear as day, “duct-taped to a chair, dazed out of my mind, to see one of my top performers literally in pieces in front of me, having her severed leg eaten away at by another one of my performers?!” 

He took a fearful side-glance to where the other performers were lurking in the shadows backstage, immediately eyeing the colossal man from earlier who had been squishing a woman’s flaccid corpse into a jar. He was currently screwing the lid down on it, the woman’s horrified expression pressed right up against the glass. Nausea came over the magician once again.

“And-And what about that?! What the _fuck_ is that about?!” He shrieked, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest at seeing the man lock eyes with him.

Jack’s brows furrowed with question, leaning back a bit to see what Marvin was looking at. As soon as he saw the brutish beast, he chuckled with delight.

“Oh that’s Benson – you know that, Marv.” He giggled. “Oh if only you’d seen his act earlier, you would’ve loved it! The man really knows how to crush someone’s spine.”

Marvin whirled around to stare at the Irishman as though he were completely insane, his face paling considerably.

“W-What?” The word came out as a shaky whisper laced with disbelief. He briefly glanced back at the man who was known as Benson. “Th-That’s – ?”

Benson – the loving, caring, teddy-bear-of-a-strongman Benson? He shook his head slowly, pointing out the woman in the jar, shifting his attention back to Jack.

“A-And her…Is…Is she – ?” The question was right there, but he honestly felt like he was going to hurl if he even said the last word.

“Hmm?” Yet again, the green-haired ringmaster eyed what the magician was quivering about. He nudged him in the rib playfully. “Oh you know her too, Marvin, come on! Don’t you recognize Camilla when you see her?”

Now the magician was feeling severely lightheaded. Blood was not getting to his head fast enough and he genuinely was expecting to pass out cold in a moment. Camilla – the best contortionist in the show, known for flexing and manipulating her body in any which way imaginable. In the jar – that was –?

“Yeah, she’s dead, that one – dead as a doornail. It’s funny, she barely had any backbone and now she hasn’t got one at all.” He chuckled. “Although, I’ve got to say, after being submersed in formaldehyde,” He grinned, “she’s alive as ever on stage. Easy to bend and break.” 

That was enough for Marvin.

 _“What the actual fuck, Jack?!”_ He shouted, shaking all over, feeling his eyes starting to sting with the need to tear up. 

It was at that moment when it hit him just how scared he truly was. He’d always felt safe around Jack before, he’d always felt at ease and could trust the man with anything and everything. But this...whoever or whatever was standing in front of him was leaving him deeply perturbed, nightmarish thoughts of what the man would do to him plaguing his mind.

The Irishman casted his sinister gaze back to the trembling magician, the most unkind smile still etched onto his face. He strode back over to him, causing Marvin to stumble back and nearly trip over his own feet. Unfortunately for him, Jack got to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

“I am helping, Marvin, you’re just not seeing it.” His creator insisted. He motioned out at the endless rows of people watching them. “Look at them and tell me you’re not pleased by their reactions. Tell me this isn’t the most you’ve gotten out of an audience!”

“No, NO! You’ve done something to them, I know you have!” Marvin fired back, twisting around uneasily in Jack’s hold and wanting nothing more but to escape it. “I don’t know why, I don’t know what’s going through your head, but all of this is your doing. You may have everyone else fooled, but not me.” He shook his head, grimacing at the Irishman. “There are only two explanations for all of this: Either this is a fucked up nightmare or you’re not Jack.”

The ringmaster suddenly threw his head back and let out the shrillest, bone-chilling laugh Marvin had ever heard come from the man, causing him to flinch away from Jack out of fright. Jack’s neck cracked loudly when he jerked his head, cold eyes boring into the magician’s.

“Oh this is real, Marv, I assure you of that. And it is me. I am Jack.” He leaned in uncomfortably close, his expression darkening. “You’re just now seeing the real me for the first time. And if you don’t believe me,” The corners of his lips pulled back into a toothy grin that immediately gave Marvin the impression he was about to devour him alive. Jack’s eyes widened with excitement, raising a brow, “I guess I will have to make every minute of this real for you.”

Marvin shrunk down in the Irishman’s hold, eyes as wide as saucers and fear seeping deep into his being. He felt like a child who was terrified of getting swallowed whole by a monster, and given the way Jack was acting, he wouldn’t be surprised if that ended up becoming true. With that, the demented ringmaster spun on his heel and pushed Marvin away, practically bounding up to the front of the stage, thrusting a hand up into the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come! The grand finale of the show! The moment you have all been waiting for! The one, the only,” He took a side-step, motioning backward to where Marvin stood a quivering, scared-to-the-core mess, “Marvin the Magnificent!”

A roar of applause and cheers arose from the audience, everyone beyond thrilled to see the magic act – the one that had been hyped from the very beginning. Marvin didn’t know what to do at that point. Every fiber of his being was telling him to race off stage, bolt out of the tent, and leave his part of the void to find one of the other egos for help. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His performers were all backstage, surely watching his every move. Hell, the way Benson had looked at him clearly screamed that he wouldn’t hesitate to snap the poor ego like a twig and use his bones to pick his teeth. He wanted to leave, but he couldn’t. He was trapped. He’d have no choice but to go through with whatever Jack had planned. His worrisome gaze shifted from the audience to the ringmaster.

“Jack, this needs to stop. Please.” He tried, having a sliver of hope that maybe this was all some sick joke and Jack would drop the act in a minute.

Marvin’s plea went unnoticed by the Irishman, who still had his full attention on the viewers. The magician went to open his mouth to snap at him, only to nearly choke on his words at suddenly feeling a strange sensation beginning to tingle throughout his arms. He stiffened, casting his gaze downward to look at his arms. His face scrunched up with bewilderment. What the hell was that? It felt as though the inside of his arms were heating up. He rubbed at them gently, thinking nothing much of it. It was probably his nerves getting the better of him.

“Now as I had stated at the start of the show, Marvin here will be performing something that will surely blow your minds to smithereens!” He guaranteed joyfully.

Marvin took a brief glimpse up at him before he hissed through his teeth, jerking his arms in close to himself at feeling another surge of unexpected energy. He grimaced, staring down at his arms with more worry than question. There was a dull ache beginning to swell in his muscles, heat slowly but surely weaving through his veins. It wasn’t extremely painful, but agony was most certainly making itself at home. He groaned softly, pressing his fingers down on the skin and rubbing in slow circles in an attempt to soothe the pain. He looked back out at Jack.

“Jack.” He called out, hoping the man would turn and look at him.

Jack once again paid no attention to him, still taking pride in announcing to the audience of what would be happening.

“He will be performing a death-defying magic act for you all!” He said with a level of eagerness that would surely unnerve some people. He raised a finger. “But I know what you’re thinking: We’ve already seen so many death-defying acts tonight, so what makes this so special?”

Marvin parted his lips to call his name again, but nearly yelped when he felt searing pain erupt inside his arms, something throbbing up against his fingertips insistently. He jumped back, yanking his hands away from his arms out of alarm. He released a few quick shaken breaths as he looked at his arms, glancing from one to the other. He clenched his teeth in agony at feeling another jolt racing up and down his arms. What the hell was going on? His muscles, his tendons, his veins – everything felt abnormally hot all of sudden. Fire was growing inside at a rapid pace and it was really starting to hurt. The magician groaned in pain, eyeing the Irishman with equal parts annoyance and desperation.

“Jack.” He winced at feeling the scalding heat claw into his veins. “J-Jack, please. S-Something’s wrong.”

Still, the Irishman had yet to become aware of the magician’s condition. 

“Well I’ll tell you! Marvin is a magician – a real magician, I might add. And do you know what that means?” He paused, giving a moment for the audience to consider the question. “It means he’s practically immortal – death does not scare him! This mysterious cat-masked man can easily cheat death!” He giggled, clasping his hands together in a childish manner.

That caught Marvin’s attention instantly, his ears perking at the last sentence. He stared at Jack with perplexity and took a step forward to object.

“Wait, what?” He shook his head wildly. “J-Jack, I can’t – AHH!!” 

The magician shut his eyes and stumbled back, gripping his arms tightly and nearly keeling over at the excruciating pain taking a hold of him. He hesitantly pried his eyes open, looking over his arms. They hurt so much he could barely even touch them without having imaginary flames eat away at his insides. He noticed how faint red patches were expanding in his skin, his veins bulging out and becoming prominent. They were throbbing fiercely, beating against his flesh almost as if they wanted out. He could barely hear Jack or the audience anymore; his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. He moaned out in agony at both feeling and seeing his veins flex and twitch beneath the skin. His breathing hitched at the sight, panic latching onto his back. 

“Jack!” He yelled, his arms beginning to shake and convulse on their own. He groaned and whimpered loudly through his teeth, the urge to collapse to his knees becoming intense. “Please! L-Listen to me! Something’s wrong! My arms – something’s seriously wrong with my arms!” He pleaded, feebly trying to get the damn bastard’s attention.

“Tonight, you will bear witness as a man overcomes the pain and suffering and faces Death himself!” Jack carried on, ignoring the magician’s pleas. “But do not fret! Do not fear! This is all one big act, everyone – just remember that! Besides,” He smirked, arms outstretched to either side, “he’s a magician! Magic will keep him safe. And we all believe in magic, don’t we?!”

Everyone cheered and whistled in agreement, ever-so ready to see this “mind-blowing” magic act in action. Meanwhile, Marvin’s breathing was coming out ragged and quick. He was pretty much hyperventilating at this point, cradling his arms close to his body and hunching over out of unbearable agony. Tears were welling up in his eyes, the red patches in his skin darkening and starting to blister. He yelped, dropping to his knees and curling in on himself; his arms shaking uncontrollably. He watched with terror in his eyes as his veins pulsated and pushed against his flesh, squirming inside his arms angrily. Something was calling out to them, an invisible force digging into his arms, wrapping its fingers around his veins, and tugging at them relentlessly. He suddenly snapped forward, arching his back as a helpless wail was ripped from his vocal cords. The patches were beet-red, the skin slowly starting to tear open.

“JACK!” Marvin screamed, a few tears running down his cheeks. “PLEASE!”

Finally the Irishman turned his head, dropping his arms at his sides. He released an exasperated sigh.

“What is it, Marv? Can’t you see I’m getting them worked up for you?” He said agitatedly as though he couldn’t even see the ego whimpering in pain. “And what’re you doing down there on the ground? You’ve got a magic act to perform!” He chortled in amusement, motioning for the magician to get up. “Come on, get up, Marv.” He laughed, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not like you’re a puppet; I can’t just get you to move at will!”

Marvin stared at him with tear-filled eyes, endless whimpers and pained moans crawling out of his throat. Jack dipped his head, peering at the suffering magician from under the brim of his hat. A dark otherworldly chuckle bubbled out from deep within his throat, leering at the ego with an inhumanly unsympathetic smirk curling at his lips. His cold eyes flashed vibrant neon green.

 **“Or can I?”** His voice – it was sharp as a knife’s edge but rough and coarse as though his throat had been torn apart and poorly put back together from scratch. 

It was the stuff of a child’s worst nightmare. Everything was.

Ruthlessly a malignant force ripped into Marvin’s arms and tore his veins out, the blood vessels bursting through the flesh and shooting up to the rafters; latching onto them possessively. String after string jetted out, tearing at the magician’s flesh as they escaped in intermingled pairs. A geyser of thick crimson red erupted, splattering all over the ego as well as the stage and a few people down in the front rows. A horrifying, bloodcurdling scream wrenched its way out of the man’s vocal cords, snapping his head back as he was hauled to his feet by his own veins. He hung there, arms pulled up above his head with thin strips of torn flesh hanging limp. Streams of blood ran down both arms, painting them in a hot crimson as he wriggled and squirmed helplessly; crying out in insufferable pain. Everyone in the front rows who had gotten sprayed gasped in horror, quite a few letting out hair-raising shrieks. The psychotic ringmaster cackled wildly at the gory display, one moment laughing at the strung-up ego, the next facing the audience with his arms splayed out.

 **“Astounding, ain’t it folks?! Guess he really is a puppet!”** He chortled, looking over the blood-spattered audience members. **“Oh, right, I probably should’ve warned you all about that. Things tend to become a bloody mess from time to time here at the carnival.”**

Marvin’s pained screams carried on, his cheeks wet with both his own blood and tears. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to – the agony and horror he was experiencing were far too extreme to handle.

“WHY?!” He managed to cry out, still writhing around where he was situated.

The deranged Irishman cocked his head to the side as he began to approach him, the depraved smile still carved into his face. He raised a brow out of mock wonder.

 **“Why?”** He scoffed and shrugged. **“Why not? Never hurts to have a bit of fun, Marv.”** He pointed an accusing finger at him. **“It’s your show, after all – your act. Your time to shine, Mr. Magnificent!”** He inched closer, tilting his head to the other side with a cringe-inducing crack producing from his neck. **“And I must say, I am enjoying the show so far.”**

Marvin shook his head quickly. “N-No, NO! S-Stop it!” He sobbed, a whimper slipping past his trembling lips. “Y-You’re not Jack – YOU’RE NOT JACK!” He looked out to the crowd pleadingly. “HELP ME! PLEASE!”

No one bothered to move or get up, everyone remained seated, all smiling and talking to one another about how the magician managed to make his veins explode out of his arms and how “amazing” it was that he was still alive. The green-haired YouTuber only chuckled at his pathetic cries, his eyes darkening sinisterly. He placed a hand on one of Marvin’s shoulders as he stared at him.

**“Oh I’m Jack alright, Marvin.”**

“NO YOU’RE NOT!”

The Irishman couldn’t contain his mirth, an eerie childish giggle bubbling out of his throat – a throat which was now slit open and bleeding, Marvin noted with gut-wrenching dismay.

 **“Yes I am, Marv. It’s like I told you – you’re just now seeing the real me for the first time. You can call me ‘Anti-Jack’, if you’d like. ‘Anti’, if it helps.”** His smile faltered, his eyes growing darker as he leaned in close to the broken ego. **“I control the void, I’m the god of this world.”** He moved a hand up to constrict one of Marvin’s veins, not caring how blood seeped into his glove. The magician immediately let out a shrill scream at the pain. **“I created you and the others. I created all of this.”** He slowly tilted his head, his voice softening to an unnerving level. **“You haven’t seen me in a whole year…If I can manipulate everything in here, then has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I could change my own appearance as well?”**

Marvin panted and whimpered, releasing a strangled groan as he eyed the man in front of him. He no longer saw Jack anymore – he knew for a fact he wasn’t meeting the eyes of his creator. Everything this man was saying could not be true, it just couldn’t be. But deep down in the pit of his stomach, the ego knew he was lost in a state of denial and it scared him beyond comprehension. 

“W-Why?” He snivelled, tears blurring his vision. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

 **“Because, Marvin, I can. Because you said it yourself,”** The evil toothy smile was creeping across his face again, **“you’re a broken ego who held onto a hopeless belief that you were a ‘one-time thing’.”** Though he was smiling, the change in tone of voice did not go unnoticed by the magician. The last few words – he seemed to hiss them through his teeth with resentment, like the words were disgusting for him to get out. **“And that’s exactly what you were: a one-time thing.”** He took a step back, releasing his hold on the man’s veins. **“So what am I going to do with a useless, waste-of-space like yourself?”** He snickered. **“I’m going to put you to good use: Give the people the show they’ve been waiting for!”**

With that, he turned to face the audience with a wide, jack o-lantern-like grin.

 **“Behold! A man dangling from his own strings!”** He exclaimed with sadistic delight, running a finger down one of Marvin’s veins, which only caused the man to cringe and yelp. That finger quickly moved to out in front of him, like he was about to add onto what he just said. **“But that’s not all, folks! As astonishing as it is, this isn’t all that our magnificent Marvin has planned for you. So hold onto your hats! The best part of the show is about to begin!”**

The crowd went wild at hearing that. Marvin, on the other hand, didn’t know how this could possibly get any worse, and he honestly didn’t want to know. He shut his eyes and shook his head, repeatedly pleading for the man to end the madness and return everything to normal. But of course, the demonic ringmaster didn’t listen. He raised an arm and glanced over to somewhere backstage, watching as a woman dressed in black – resembling a spider what with having six arms and eight red eyes – appeared on stage, wheeling a tray of all sorts of knives and daggers up to the evil Jack – Anti. Seeing through the unsightly defects, Marvin could’ve sworn she resembled the tightrope walker, Gwen. Anti swiped a decent-sized dagger off of the tray and twirled it between his fingers.

 **“You’ve seen knife-throwing acts before,”** He stopped the blade, holding it by the tip, **“but have you ever seen a living target take the damage and survive?”** With no warning whatsoever, Anti swivelled around and flung the dagger directly at the suspended magician, the blade sinking deep into his gut.

On cue, the ego snapped his head back and let out a horrific scream, wiggling like a worm on a hook, more tears cascading from his eyes. He could feel the dagger’s edge slicing into his insides with every move he made, cutting away at his meat and organs without mercy. His head fell forward, watching a bloody patch beginning to spread across his clothing. 

“P-PLEASE! Please, stop!” He begged pitifully.

Anti giggled with the utmost disturbing amount of pleasure the magician had ever heard, causing his skin to crawl. 

**“Stop? Now why would I want to do that?”** He took a glimpse at the audience. **“Isn’t he a funny one – acting like he’s actually in pain and wanting help?!”**

The crowd laughed right along with him as he turned to the tray, scanning through his options. He hummed with thought before grasping a knife with a jagged edge, eyeing the magician, and firing the blade at his left shoulder. It drove deep into the meat, impaling his shoulder and jutting out an inch away from where his heart was. Yet again, Marvin wavered, wailing out in pure unadulterated agony, tugging on his arms even though that only made matters worse. He could taste copper exploding in his mouth, blood starting to bubble up inside his throat. He choked, violently coughing up a mouthful of his life force.

“S-STOP! Please, Jack!” He gurgled, thin streams of crimson dribbling out of his mouth.

Anti only laughed at the man’s pathetic begging, a gleam of amazement bursting in his hellish eyes at seeing more blood arise out of the ego. He hastily strode up to him.

 **“You see, everyone? Strung up by his veins and taking blades one by one. Any normal human being would surely be dead from the amount of pain and blood loss, but not our dear ol’ Marvin the Magnificent here!”** He cackled, coiling his gloved fingers around the handle of the knife wedged into the magician’s shoulder. 

**“You can poke and prod, twist and turn,”** He said this with a sick growl in his voice, eyes fixed onto Marvin as he pushed the blade in further. He began rotating it slowly, deliberately making the knife brutalize the man’s insides. Marvin howled at the torture, **“carve at the meat and drain the sauce,”** The octaves in his voice deepened unnaturally, sending chills up and running through Marvin’s body, **“and he will still remain standing!”**

Marvin jolted, practically drowning in his own bodily fluid. He lurched forward, a torrent of blood spluttering out of him. He coughed and sobbed, hanging his head in defeat. He was mumbling something, but it was so quiet, the ringmaster could barely hear him. He smirked and nudged him.

**“Hmm? Did you say something?”**

“P-Pwleese…” 

**“Speak up, Marv. We can’t hear you.”** The demon laughed.

Marvin lifted his head and stared at him with pleading eyes red from his endless crying.

“P-Pwleese…Pwleese, kwill mey.” He bemoaned, choking on his blood at trying to speak. More tears clouded his vision. His bottom lip trembled as he shook his head, a few lone tears running astray. “Pwleese, kwill mey, ‘ack, ‘m bwegging ya.” 

Anti grinned deviously and leaned in close to him, no sign of remorse or empathy on his face. Anti’s earlier speech had been accurate – Marvin was facing Death himself.

 **“Oh come now, Marvin, you know I can’t do that. Look at your audience!”** He motioned out to the sea of people watching the show. **“Don’t be selfish! You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, now would you?”**

Marvin went to say something only to cough and hack harshly, another gross mouthful of blood bursting forth. Anti got a kick out of that and jumped back so as to not get any on his outfit. He raced back over to the tray, directing his attention down to his options.

 **“Hmm…”** He hummed with thought as he scanned through the collection of knives. **“Which one, which one?”** His fingertips danced along the glistening blades with excitement, a sickening amount of delight shining bright in those dark eyes.

His victim’s whimpers, pleas, and moans of gut-wrenching agony carried on as he writhed and swayed, endless tears racing down his cheeks. The poor magician could barely breathe and could’ve sworn his vision was starting to fade, what with how much blood he was losing.

“Pwleese! Pwle-Pwleese!” He spluttered, blood bubbling out of his mouth as he begged. “Pwleese, s-stawp!”

Anti’s finger stopped on one of the knives and grasped it, lifting it by the blade before eyeing the suspended man. He smirked as a chuckle was heard coming from deep within his slashed throat. 

**“The head’s a delicate thing, Marv. It holds the most crucial organ.”** A sadistic grin spread across his face. 

He went to roll up one of his sleeves before proceeding to run the knife along his wrist, cutting deep. He didn’t express any sort of pain, merely watched as both blood and a black substance surfaced and coated the blade. He lifted the knife, watching a thick trail of black run down the blade. 

**“I wonder,”** His eyes shot back to the magician, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips, **“Can I penetrate through it from here?”** He giggled maniacally as he raised the knife and aimed directly for the center of Marvin’s head. 

**“What’s there to be afraid of? It’s all one big magic act, isn’t it, Marv? You’ll be good as new – kept together by magic! And you believe in magic,”** His head jerked in an unnatural way, his eyes flickering black as sin. His grin sent ice through Marvin’s veins, **“don’t you?”**

He fired the knife, Marvin shut his eyes, and an explosion of pain burst through his brain.

A bloodcurdling scream rang in his ears as all he saw was black, his entire body convulsing out of terror.

“Marvin?! MARVIN!”

He screamed again, his eyes snapping open in alarm; quick, racked breaths expelling from his lips. He staggered backward, his hands trembling and fingers uncoiling from something; a clang coming from the floor beneath him. He jumped at the sound, his gaze darting down to see a saw laying at his feet. He stared out at the audience, taking note of their expressions. None of them were laughing, cheering, or applauding. No one was splattered with his blood either. Everyone looked stunned and confused, more so the former. Confusion wracking his brain, his gaze travelled downward to see a decorative oblong box in front of him, a woman encased inside, looking up at him with the same level of shock as the audience. Releasing a shaky breath, he lifted his hands, staring at them with bewilderment. There was no blood, there wasn’t any torn flesh, and there was absolutely no pain whatsoever. Even when he went to look upon his person, there weren’t any knives sticking out. 

He was completely fine – completely untouched. 

“Marvin?” 

He jolted at feeling someone touch him. He immediately jumped back and snapped his head to see who – or what – had their hand on his arm. It was Lunette. She wasn’t a frozen cripple anymore; she looked as angelic as she had before. Her brows were furrowed and her big blue eyes were wide with not just shock but concern more than anything.

Marvin stared at her wide-eyed, stunned, taking a good long moment to fully take in how she had all of her limbs intact and wasn’t cracking. He jerked his head, taking glances at the people backstage. All of his performers – they were all completely fine. They weren’t covered in stitches or growths. No one had extra appendages protruding from their bodies. Benson looked like the giant teddy-bear-like man Marvin knew him as, staring at the magician with appalment. Camilla was standing upright beside him with her hands clasped over her mouth in shock, no longer dead and compacted into a jar of formaldehyde. Little Tino was huddled close to Benson’s leg, his facial expression one of worry, holding a puppy in his arms for comfort. 

Marvin stared at each and every one of them with equal parts confusion and realization. He tore his gaze away, looking down at his feet as he tried to process what had just happened. He noticed how he was still shaking, his heart racing wildly in his chest. He lifted his head and looked past Lunette out to the back of the stage. His eyes widened when he saw a familiar green-haired man, who was frozen in place, staring back at the magician with the same level of shock as everyone else. Almost immediately Marvin felt a wave of rage come crashing down on him.

Without saying a word to anyone, not even to his audience, the magician stormed off stage, bee-lining straight for his creator. Lunette didn’t know what to do. She looked from him, to the audience, then back to him, darting after him. 

“Marvin? Marvin, what’s wrong?” She tried, hoping he’d speak to her. If there was anyone who’d get him to talk, it’d be her.

Marvin barely even heard her. He barely even heard one of the others go out on stage to announce how he wasn’t feeling well and would instead perform the next night. He didn’t care about any of it at that moment. All he did care about was confronting the man who had literally just put him through his worst nightmare.

He pushed past all of the other performers and marched up to Jack, glaring at him with a terrifying expression that read that he wanted to actually kill the bastard. Jack only looked at him with innocent confusion, raising his hands in defence as he began backing away.

“Marvin? Wait, hold on. What’s wrong?” He asked worriedly. “What happened out there?”

“Why don’t you tell me, you sick son of a bitch?!” Marvin barked, shoving the Irishman violently backward and into his dressing room.

He heard everyone gasp from behind him, followed by Lunette hurrying up to his side. “Marvin!”

“Leave us be, Lunette.” He said as he went to step into his dressing room. He turned to look at her, his eyes dark with anger. “I need to talk with Jack for a moment.”

Lunette lifted a finger and went to object, but didn’t get a say in the matter. Marvin immediately shut the door and turned to the shaken Irishman, who genuinely looked beyond confused and fearful. He’d never seen Marvin act this way before.

“Marvin, I don’t under –”

“Shut the fuck up.” The magician hissed harshly, instantly silencing the YouTuber. Marvin strode up to him, boring his eyes into the man. “What the actual _FUCK?_ What the actual _FUCK_ was that?!”

Jack blinked out of further confusion. He shook his head. “Wha –?”

“Oh don’t you _dare_ act like you don’t know what just happened a moment ago. Don’t you _DARE_ fucking pull the innocent act with me!” Marvin flared. “You know _exactly_ what you did! You know what you did, you sick fuck! I know it was you!” His eyes were beginning to water, getting worked up at reminders of the horror he had just been put through. He jabbed an accusing finger at the worrisome Irishman. “I know it was you, I know it was!”

Jack raised his hands once again out of defence. “Marvin, I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense.” He confessed, genuinely very concerned for the ego at this point. “What did I do?”

“Bullshit! You _know_ what you did!”

Jack shook his head wildly, searching the magician’s tear-blurred eyes for an answer. He could see fear as clear as day in those eyes and it was putting a pit in his stomach.

“Marvin, I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And quite frankly, you’re scaring me.”

Marvin scoffed, chuckling lightly out of disbelief. He pointed at himself as he tilted his head. _“I’m_ scaring you? Me?” He shook his head, a few tears leaving his eyes as he tore his mask off of his head and threw it over onto his vanity.

“Marvin, talk to me. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You fucking tortured me, that’s what happened!” Marvin snapped suddenly, causing the Irishman to reel back out of fright. _“You_ changed _everything! You_ twisted and turned all of this – _my_ carnival, _my_ haven, _my_ safe place – into a goddamn house of horrors! _You_ mutated every one of my performers into fucking monsters from Hell! _You,”_ He got right up in the green-haired man’s space, jabbing a finger at him, “You strung me up by my veins,” His hand was trembling, tears flooding his eyes at the horrific memory. 

Flashes of him dangling by his veins and having knives thrown at him came to him so suddenly he felt physically ill, like he’d vomit in a second.

 _“Y-You_ used me as a fucking puppet,” He sobbed, fear clouding his eyes, “you th-threw knives at me, pushing them further in, all while the goddamn audience applauded and laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen,” His lip was quivering as he spoke, “and you didn’t care. _You didn’t fucking care.”_

Jack was staring at him as though he had gone completely mad, bothered by everything he was hearing.

“What? I – wait, wait, hold up. I did what to you?” He blinked in shock and disturbance. He shook his head. “Marvin, none of that happened. I didn’t do anything to you.”

“Lies!” Marvin shouted. “You fucking liar! I know what I saw! I know what I _felt!”_

Jack shook his head furiously, moving his hands in a way to signal Marvin to calm down. “Marvin, please, calm down. I swear, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” He searched the man’s eyes for understanding. “Everything you just told me,” He shook his head again, “none of that happened.”

Marvin went to object, about to put the Irishman in his place, but Jack didn’t give him a chance.

“Look, I came to you and suggested helping with your act. You shot me down and went out on stage to open the show. You were dead set on performing your ‘sawing someone in half’ trick and I didn’t argue with you. So I let you go to do it. I stayed backstage with everyone else, watching you greet everyone.” He explained everything the way he remembered it playing out. “You were given the saw and were about to start cutting, but you just suddenly froze up. And before any of us knew it, you were standing there, screaming and crying as though you were being murdered.” 

Marvin didn’t say anything; he just stood there staring at his creator with perplexity fogging his mind. Jack inched forward cautiously, afraid of the magician snapping at him or giving in to an act of violence. 

“Marvin,” He looked deep into his eyes, “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t warp your part of the void.” His brows furrowed. “Why would I ever do such a horrible thing like that to you?” He said it perturbed, feeling incredibly dirty at the very thought of doing something so malicious.

Marvin stared at him for a prolonged moment before backing away from him, shaking his head.

“No, no, I know what I saw – I _know_ what I went through, Jack. I _know_ what I saw and I _know_ what I felt.”

“But Marvin –”

“And I don’t care what you say. Say whatever you want but I won’t believe you.” He grimaced, the hatred returning home. “You said I was a broken ego, that I was useless. You – You mocked me and my magic.” He growled. “And I’m going to show you – I’m going to show you and everyone else that I’m not useless, that I am a _real_ magician, mark my words! I will prove it!”

The magician suddenly felt a dull ache come from behind his eyeballs and he groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and lifting a hand to rub at his head. Jack tilted his head, moving to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, are…are you alright?” He asked with genuine concern lacing every word.

Marvin grunted and slapped his hand away. “No, no I’m not alright. I just went through hell and back, and now,” He groaned again, “my head is killing me.” 

Jack hummed with thought. “Maybe you should lie down and rest for a bit.”

Marvin reopened his eyes and glared at the Irishman. “Piss off. I don’t need you telling me what to do.” Another pang of pain erupted behind his eyes, causing him to wince and stagger over to his vanity. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jack was going to object, but immediately thought against it. He knew just how angry Marvin was and how the magician spited him, and given the way he was acting, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of getting through to the man. He merely sighed softly, nodded, and left the room without a word. A small smirk played at his lips for half a second as he shut the door behind him.

Marvin stood hunched over his vanity, hands firmly placed on top with his head bowed down. He really needed rest – he felt exhausted beyond words. After everything he’d gone through, it was understandable why. He moaned in pain, opening his eyes and lifting his head to look at his reflection in the mirror. His brows furrowed at seeing a small speck of something wet and black in the corner of his right eye.

“What the –?”

He lifted a hand and went to touch the glob, grabbing onto it and slowly pulling it back. A thin string of black stretched out until he yanked it from his eyes entirely. He looked it over with disgust, not understanding what it was. He shook it off of his hand, groaning at feeling the pain worsen in his head. He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the bed off in the corner. 

The Irishman’s idea didn’t seem like such a bad idea now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I discovered the band Creature Feature 3 weeks ago and I kid you not, I've been listening to every one of their songs on repeat since then. They are officially my favorite band and they definitely influenced me with going all out with the madness in this chapter.


	16. Curious I See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GAAAWWWWDDDDD!! FINALLY! I FUCKING LIVE!! Jesus FUCKING Christ! *dies*
> 
>  
> 
> How I absolutely LOATHED working on this chapter. Don’t get me wrong, I like it and I wrote it because I felt it was necessary for the story, but jfc, I had such a difficult time writing it out the way I envisioned it in my head. I apologize for just how FUCKING long it took for me to get this out. Things came up in my life, it’s been ridiculously hot the last couple of weeks which naturally made me so hot that I didn’t want to do anything. And I’m going away the next few days, so I wanted to get this done before I leave. SO here it is! Hallelujah! 
> 
>  
> 
> So I kind of lied, there is some horror in this chapter (surprise, surprise!). I didn’t lie though about it being a “break” chapter so don’t worry - there’s no angst or gore in this, so you can all relax and breathe (’cause believe me, you’re going to need it). Slight warning though: things tend to get quite creepy and uneasy in this chapter (what else is new?). A character is described as a corpse with gross descriptions. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’m taking a notebook with me while I’m away so I’ll hopefully get started on Part 17.

Close your eyes and open your mind. Take deep breaths – inhale and exhale slowly…slowly…slowly…

Feel your body going slack, feel your muscles loosening and your nerves relaxing. You’re beginning to feel tired but not sleepy, drifting into a state of unconsciousness but still very much awake. You’re floating away into a sea of darkness, and yet you still have a grip on your body, you can feel it. There’s a comforting warmth blossoming in your chest and weaving throughout your veins, relieving you in knowing that you’re alright and your body – your physical body – isn’t going anywhere. You can’t see anything, even when you open your eyes. There’s nothing but never-ending black – that is until there isn’t. 

The void – an otherworldly dimension of space, a dream within a dream. A haven that you and you alone can escape to and warp to your exact liking, a place where you can become a god and shape your own world with a flick of the wrist and a snap of your fingers. A sanctuary for your inner personas to feel safe and content. A mind palace where no one but you holds the power and control over everything. 

No one can be let in and no one can be let out.

Because if something were to somehow find a way to get inside, there’d be no telling what would happen.

The darkness would probably no longer be your blanket of security. The warmth would probably be sucked from right out of your chest cavity. The air would probably become tainted with something so putrid you’d find yourself suffocating. Something twisted and unearthly would probably have its nails sunk deep into the roots of your safe place, creating its own diseased world. And you would probably find yourself rotting from the inside out, desperately trying to escape from the place you had built and known to have once been wonderful and welcoming.

The worst part?

You would probably not notice any of it until it was too late.

* * * * *

_Why are you out here again?...Oh! Right! ‘Cause you felt like something was wrong and you felt the need to go and see for yourself. Curse you and your instinctive need to make sure everything’s okay!_

The lone hero was currently wandering around in the void – not his specific part of the void but the overall spacious part of the void that didn’t belong to any particular ego. Given just how empty the space was, it was quite literally a never-ending black abyss; not a whole lot of light brightened the place, although there wasn’t much to shed light on. And yet, within the darkness, there was beauty and a sense of comfort.

The entire floor wasn’t a floor at all, more so a continuous runway of water; illuminated by bare-branched neon trees rising tall on either side of the paths leading towards each individual ego’s world. Those trees weaved out up high into the shadows, a thick smog clouding the sky and dissipating the closer it reached the ground. Pulses of blinding shades of color originated from the roots and surged upward throughout the shimmering bark every couple of seconds. It was as though the energy and life of the trees were visible to the naked eye. The branches were so thin and veiny; anyone would surely do a double take and think they resembled nerves in the brain, what with the charges of power coursing through each branch. 

With each step the green-haired man took, the water beneath his feet rippled and produced a faint glow of ruby red, an indication of which ego was out and about. The color was always different, depending on which ego was taking a stroll through the void. Surprisingly, although the ground was completely made of water and appeared frighteningly deep, the man didn’t sink. In fact, his feet weren’t even getting wet; the clear liquid just ran off of his boots in droplets, not soaking into the material or leaving behind any evidence of him having walked along water. He strolled along the path, a faint trail of crimson following behind him as he took a look around at his surroundings. The neon trees, the darkness, the foggy haze, the pathways leading off to his friends’ own sanctuaries. He hummed with thought, kicking at the ground, sending a splash of red forth.

It was very rare for an ego to ever leave their little world and wander off into the open void. But every now and again, whether it was to go and visit one of their identical twins or to just get some fresh air and have some peace and quiet to think, they’d find their way out into the dark. 

So what was the heroic Jackieboy Man’s reason for venturing off into the mystical? 

One moment the hero had been rescuing an older lady’s poor cat from up high in a tree and the next he found himself getting hit with a gut-wrenching sense of dread, like something was very wrong. His first thought was that maybe someone was in need of a superhero somewhere in the city. Maybe someone had gotten hurt, maybe someone was being robbed, maybe someone was getting their car jacked. Anytime someone was in need of help or there was any danger, his superhero instincts would automatically kick in and give him a heads up. It had made sense for him to assume it was just his “spidey-sense” notifying him of any nearby danger. But that was just the thing: there wasn’t anyone in need of a hero during that time. He figured it was his brain tricking him and that he just desperately wanted to do more heroic things that day, so he brushed it off and went off on his merry way. It wasn’t until later on when he strolled past the entrance to his world when he was once again overcome with a wrongful feeling. Chills creeped up along his spine and everything seemed to had gone eerily quiet around him as he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the wormhole with perplexity but more so concern. 

Was something wrong outside of his world? Had something happened to one of the other egos? He had no idea, and even though he knew very well that Jack was always the first one to be notified of strange goings-on in the void, his instinct was to take immediate action and make sure things were okay. He was there when Jack had shown up, throat slit and choking on his own blood, and he had been there when Chase attempted suicide, lying in a dazed state and bleeding out. He may have been there, but he hadn’t shown up in time. He hadn’t saved them. He hadn’t been the hero he was supposed to be. So if something was really wrong somewhere off in the void, then he was going to make sure he would make it in time before anyone would get hurt.

He had left his world and stepped out into the open darkness, storming off and taking glances around to search for anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed fine. The trees were all still glowing brightly in the multiple colors they always interchanged from. The ground was still wet and illuminated red with each step he took. He didn’t see anyone rushing off to someone else’s world out of panic. He didn’t see Jack show up to see for himself what was going on. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the void, nor were any of the other egos out in the open. And yet, that godawful cancer of dismay remained festering in his stomach, chewing at his insides piece by piece. Everything may have appeared normal, but he knew – he KNEW – something wasn’t right. 

The masked hero slowed his pacing as he finally came to the crossroads, lining out the four pathways to each ego’s part of the void. Marvin the Magnificent’s carnival was straight ahead, a faint purple ring in the distance indicating where the entrance was. Off to his left, in the far vastness of space, a bright blue portal was seen – an entrance to Dr. Schneeplestein’s world – and to his right, a loop of energetic orange, home to Chase Brody. He stopped in the center of the intersection, scanning the area around him for any sign of movement.

“Hello?” He called out into the never-ending blackness. “Hello? Guys? Is everything alright?”

He didn’t receive any sort of response, nor did he manage to make out anyone come out of their worlds to see him. Nothing but eerie, dead silence filled the air, and it didn’t make Jackieboy Man feel at ease in the slightest. He had called out for them – surely someone would’ve heard him. Someone would’ve come out to see what the commotion was about. And yet, there was nothing. He was alone in the dark, and that was something that never happened. Anytime he’d come out into the open for a stroll, he may have been alone, but he never truly felt alone. He knew the other egos were each there in the void with him, off doing their own individual things. He was never truly alone. But now – what with this harrowing leech wriggling through his insides…

Slowly – and barely even there – thin, icy-cold digits creeped up along his shoulder blade.

Jackie jolted and immediately spun around on his heel, sucking in a breath at only seeing eternal darkness in his wake. His eyes darted around the place wildly, searching for someone – anyone! He damn well knew he had felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, so how come he didn’t see anyone around? 

An unearthly chuckle of glee reverberated throughout the void, an even more mangled giggle overlapping it and coming from off in the deep black of space. Jackie jerked his head in the direction of where the giggle seemed to be originating from and cocked his head in slight confusion. It wasn’t coming from any one of the egos’ worlds – he was staring directly out at pitch blackness, completely off the paths made for the egos to wander on. 

It was coming from out in an open, uncharted area of the void where no light was seen.

He swallowed dryly and parted his lips, still staring at the shadows. “Hello?” His voice echoed. “Who’s there?”

The silence returned for a moment or two with a vengeance, admittedly sending chills up and racing along his spine. He cautiously took a step forward, never taking his attention away from where he had heard the giggle.

“Hello?!”

A shot of ice burned through his spine at feeling someone tap at his shoulder.

Jackie gasped sharply and whirled around, wide-eyed and a tad bit shaken. No one was there. Another childish giggle sounded from the abyss before him, almost taunting him. He frowned, starting to get agitated. Was one of the others playing a trick on him? Because if so, it wasn’t funny.

“Hey!” He shouted, immediately charging forward and leaping over the marked pathway; sprinting off in the direction of where the giggle had come from. He may not have seen anyone, but he had definitely felt someone touch him. He didn’t feel so alone anymore – someone else was there in the open void with him and he was going to find them and put an end to this joke of theirs’.

Into the darkness he delved, the foggy breath of black ghosting over him and sucking him in the deeper he went. He couldn’t see a thing at this point now, not an ounce of light shining through. If possible, it seemed to be getting even darker the further he ran. Whoever was hiding from him let out a mocking laugh, evidently deriving sheer amusement from the hero’s puzzlement and desperate need to find the culprit. Releasing an uneven breath and slowing himself down to a halt, Jackieboy Man scanned around him for any sign of movement. All he saw was black – pure, empty, cloak-of-the-Grim-Reaper black. Even when he reached his hand outward, he couldn’t see it; it was one with the darkness. He searched all around him, turning around in circles until he was dizzy, but there wasn’t any sign of light whatsoever. He couldn’t see the neon trees branching upward towards the sky. He couldn’t see the illuminated watery pathways. He couldn’t see any of the portals to the egos’ homes. He saw absolutely nothing and it was only making the lingering feeling in his gut tighten to a sickeningly discomforting extent. 

Where were the paths and the trees? There was no way he had run off that far, and even if he had gone a pretty lengthy distance, he would still be able to see the lights from where he was. So why was everything gone? Why couldn’t he see anything?

An awful, cruel cackle resounded through the place, jabbing pins and needles into the hero’s back and making his heart give a jolt of worriment. His eyes darted around nervously, swallowing thickly as he took a couple of wary steps forward.

“Show yourself!” He demanded, his words getting dragged out of him and floating through the endless space for god-knows-who to hear.

He only received a stifling chuckle in response. Following it, an abundance of whispers began to blossom in the air, each distinct and faintly reaching out to him. He couldn’t pinpoint what they were saying as there were too many voices speaking at once, but each one was using a haunting tone of voice that drove home what he feared: he was now in a dangerous situation and he needed to turn back NOW. Forget trying to find who was behind all of the taunting and teasing, he didn’t feel safe – his wellbeing, as well as the safety of the egos, was his top priority at that moment.

Jackie began to backtrack his steps, trying to recall the way he came, but how do you know you’re going in the right direction when you can’t see a damn thing? A few of the whispers increased in loudness, wisps of them drifting right past his ears and feeding him the most chilling of things, they made him stop dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, a quivering breath getting wrenched out of him so violently he nearly doubled over.

_“…couldn’t save them.”_  
_“…dead…”_  
_“Where were you?”_  
_“…you let…”_  
_“Why?”_  
_“…them suffer…”_  
_“The poor souls…”_  
_“…your friends…”_  
_“What kind…”_  
_“Please…”_  
_“…left to rot.”_  
_“The children were…”_  
_“of hero are you?”_  
_“He’s coming…”_  
_**“…for you.”**_

A loud bubbly giggle belonging to a little girl rang out from behind the scared hero, causing him to jump and turn to very vaguely make out something deathly-white race by in the distance. With his poor heart feeling the effects of the festering cancer taking hold, Jackie strode forward. His breathing had picked up and alongside the whispers, all he could hear was the deafening beating of his heart pounding away at his ribcage. He clenched his fingers, balling them up into tight fists in an attempt to stave off his growing anxiety. He was a superhero, he didn’t fear anything! He could take anything on with ease and was never one to back down on a challenge! He would NOT succumb to this scheming individual’s tricks of getting a rise out of him!

“Hello?” His voice echoed. “Guys, if this is some kind of prank, it isn’t funny!” He snapped, a sliver of his building dread interlacing his words. 

Another sweet girlish giggle met his ears, his eyes staring straight ahead to find a small pale figure standing still, staring right back at him with what looked an awful lot like a large grin – he couldn’t fully tell given how far away this individual was and with how dark it was. He squinted, trying to make out the figure more clearly. He licked his lips, hesitating to speak.

“Who are you?”

_Now hold on, Jackie, think about this for a moment. A little girl was giggling a second ago and that looks a lot like a little girl. Who has a little girl? The doctor does, as does Chase. Maybe she’s one of them. Maybe she’s a part of –_

His thoughts got cut short when he noticed the figure begin to move, bee-lining straight for him. As the figure drew closer, Jackieboy Man’s vision started to clear up and the shapes and details of long dark hair and a cute floral dress could be made out. It was a little girl – probably four years old – one who gave off an eerily similar appearance as Dr. Schneeplestein’s youngest daughter.

“Ilsa?” Jackie questioned. “What – What are you doing out here all alone?”

The girl suddenly came to an abrupt stop, her head cocking to the left with a gross crack, sending prickles of unease throughout the green-haired hero’s veins. A bouncy laugh ruptured from her throat.

_“I’m not awone, silly! I’m here with you!”_ She chirped happily.

Jackie, gulping down the fear strangling his insides, warily approached her, shrinking down a bit as he moved, feeling the need to be on her level. As he did, the whispers grew louder as though they were warning him to stay away. 

“Ilsa, you shouldn’t be out here.” He coughed, nearly choking on his own breath. 

He felt himself struggling to breathe the closer he got to the girl – it felt like a giant weight was slowly but surely being pressed down on his chest, like some force was resisting him and not wanting him to go any further. 

“Your,” He cleared his throat, “Y-Your mother is probably w-worried sick.” He coughed harshly and groaned out of discomfort.

The air was growing revoltingly moist and putrid, so much so he nearly gagged. It was heavy and thick, he found himself gulping down breaths of air. He immediately regretted it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as a waft of rot and decay unexpectedly attacked his senses. He couldn’t begin to describe the smell. Rancid milk, moldy fruit, rotten eggs – none of that could beat this scent. His eyes screwed shut as he clasped a hand over his mouth, hunching over while holding his stomach. Bile flooded his throat and he had to stop for a moment to try and settle down his insides from coercing him into vomiting.

_“Come pway with me.”_

Jackie hesitantly pried an eye open to take a glance at the girl, who seemed to have closed a good distance between the two. She was still staring at him with cold eyes, lifting an arm and outstretching her hand palm up, almost as though she was expecting the ego to take it. However, there appeared to be something shiny glinting in her hand. Trembling all over from just how nerve-racked he was, as well as from his will power to stave off the need to hurl, the hero swallowed down the sick in his throat and struggled to keep himself upright. He gradually inched toward the child, still finding it quite hard to make out her face or the object in her hand. His heart was pummelling deep inside his chest, the roaring rush of blood racing in his ears making him feel all the more nauseous. It took him a prolonged moment to hear over the noise and make out a faint buzzing coming from around the girl. His brows furrowed in question at not only the sound but finally noticing something dripping from the girl’s hand, and at that moment, an overwhelming odor of iron overcame him. His eyes widened slightly, mouth hanging agape, about to ask what the hell she was holding. 

He didn’t get to ask. 

His heart jolted painfully in his chest, nearly springing out of his chest cavity at hearing the evil laugh from earlier reverberate from behind him. The masked hero jumped and whirled around to see no one standing there. His breathing was very ragged now, coming and going in sharp gasps. He couldn’t even get himself to speak! 

_“Come pway with us, Mr. Jackieboy.”_

His face contorted with puzzlement at hearing what she said. He began to turn around to face her.

“Us? What do you – AH!” He yelped in alarm, staggering backward at seeing her now standing only a few feet away from him. 

The buzzing was more audible, the insistent humming of flies invading his bothered ears. His face scrunched up out of disturbance at seeing an accumulation of flies swarming the girl, quite a few landing on her face and extended arm. Jackie opened his mouth, lips trembling and fighting to part so he could ask her what was going on. But his question got lodged in his throat as soon as she stepped forward, finally revealing herself and looking up at him with her milky-white eyes.

_“Pway with us, Mr. Jackieboy.”_ She giggled, causing her deeply-cut decaying Glasgow smile to stretch impossibly wide; a fly squeezing out and taking flight. She held her hand out to him, causing the horrified hero to cast his gaze downward to find a bloodied scalpel in her palm.

Jackieboy Man’s eyes bulged out of horror, a hand slapping over his gaping mouth. He shook his head, taking a hesitant step back.

“Oh my God – Oh my GOD! Ilsa, what –” He lowered his hand, instantly surging forward and kneeling in front of the girl, grabbing her by the shoulders. His fingertips seemed to sink easily into her bare skin. It felt quite mushy and gross, her flesh and muscle horribly putrefied. The hero nearly choked on his own saliva. His eyes quickly raked over her small body before meeting her fogged-up stare. “what happened to you?! Where are your parents’?!”

Ilsa dropped her hand at her side and chuckled lightly, shaking her head, her whole body moving with her. She lifted a finger to her lips.

_“Shhh. I can’t tell you. It’s part of his game.”_

Jackieboy Man’s brows screwed together. “His game? Who is he? Please, Ilsa. Come on, please tell me!” He tightened his grip on her, his finger slipping into her rotten meat with ease. “What is going on?!”

The little girl sighed softly and glanced off into space, humming with thought for a drawn-out moment. She looked back at the frightened man before her and shrugged.

_“Alwight, I guess I can tell you a secret.”_ She blinked, tilting her head and leaning in a bit. _“Can you keep a secret, Mr. Jackieboy?”_

He gave a nod in agreement. “Yes, yes I can. I’ll definitely keep your secret.” He was getting desperate now. He wanted to hear what had happened to her and NEEDED to know about it. Whoever or whatever had done this to her was going to face justice immediately.

Ilsa raised her hand, curling in all of her fingers except her pinky. _“You have to pinky pwomise.”_

He shifted his attention to her malformed finger, hooking his own with hers’, a chill running down his spine at feeling it squish against his. He eyed her, nodding again. “I promise.”

Ilsa took back her hand and smiled brightly, knowing fully well she was about to tell him something she wasn’t supposed to.

_“You can’t find Mommy or Daddy because he’s alweady found them.”_ She said in a whisper, shaking her head. _“And he’d be weally mad if you found them too.”_

Jackie jerked away from her, only becoming further confused and looking at her with dread settling deep into his nerves. “Who has found your parents, Ilsa? Did this guy do this to you?”

There was a very long, increasingly uncomfortable interlude growing between the two, the masked man staring at Schneeplestein’s daughter in the dying need for answers. He watched as the smile on her face stretched, the major cuts in either side of her mouth only making her once angelic face all the more grotesque. She giggled with delight and slowly tilted her head backward, staring up at the endless darkness above them. Jackie glanced at what she was looking at, seeing nothing but black.

“What? What’s so funny – why are you laughing?” He asked, shaking her shoulders gently before releasing his hold on her. 

Ilsa giggled once more, acting as though someone or something was communicating with her – something that only she could hear. And it was with that realization that Jackieboy Man cautiously began to rise to his feet and step back away from her. 

_“He’s here now, Mr. Jackieboy.”_ The little girl beamed.

From the darkness, a few feet above her, a set of piercing neon-green eyes sliced through the black, shooting fear directly into the now-quivering hero’s poor heart. A soft hiss slithered through the dead air, accompanied with a cringe-worthy crack of the entity’s neck; its eyes now boring into his on an angle. Jackie’s breathes were starting to come out panicked and raspy, instantly taking a few more steps back. Ilsa lowered her head and looked back out at her favorite hero, crudely cut-up smile on her face.

_“He wants to pway with you now.”_ She giggled with delight.

A pair of black hands with elongated fingers curled over her shoulders possessively as another hiss came from the creature behind her. The demonic, sinister laugh Jackieboy Man had heard earlier erupted in the room all around them, and that was all it took. He instantly began running backward, wanting to be as far away from her as possible, his wide-eyes fixed on whatever was staring at him. 

Ilsa didn’t move from where she was; she remained standing there, still staring at him with a glazed-over expression and holding the bloody scalpel down at her side. It took Jackie what felt like ages until he tore his gaze away from her and that _thing_ , laboured breaths of panic expelling from him as he rushed to get away from Schneeplestein’s corpse-of-a-daughter. He bolted through the eternal darkness, hearing the whispers whine and moan, black sinister tendrils lashing out and attempting to claw at his arms and legs. He had no idea where he was going, but he needed to get out of here, he NEEDED to get out of here, HE NEEDED TO – 

The green-haired hero ran smackdab into someone, a dull ache pulsing through his body at the collision. He felt a set of hands grasp his shoulders and gently stop him, holding him a good distance away. However, he was so shaken up from what he’d seen a minute ago that his entire body tensed up all over at being touched by some unknown thing. And not being able to see who or what it was, he immediately started swatting at the thing’s arms, wriggling in its grip.

“Let go of me! Let go of me, goddamn it!” He shouted, making attempts at escaping the entity’s hold. “I’ll break your arm, I swear to God, I’ll do it! I’ll – !”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Jackie, stop! Stop! It’s me!” 

With a blink of his eyes, the hero broke out of his terror-induced state and found himself staring into the eyes of his creator, Jack. The Irishman was lightly holding him by the shoulders, astonishment and concern gleaming in his cerulean eyes. He looked genuinely unsettled by the man in red. Jackie blinked rapidly out of stunned bewilderment, taking anxious glances over his shoulder to see if the decaying reanimated corpse of Ilsa was still there, standing in the distance, waiting for him to “play” with the entity speaking to her. She wasn’t anywhere in sight, nor were the set of green eyes. In fact, when the masked hero turned back to Jack, it took him some time to even recognize where he was. 

He was out by the crossroads again, standing on the watered pathway with the trees glowing bright on either side.

His brows knitted together as his eyes took in his surroundings. What the hell had happened? He had just been out in the far off reaches of the void – places no one had ventured off into – and he had experienced what he could only call a living nightmare. Everything had felt so incredibly real. The mocking giggles, the haunting whispers, the stomach-churning stench of death, the feeling of being watched, the dead-alive mutilated cadaver of his friend’s daughter. He couldn’t get any of it out of his head. Jack stood there, not taking his hands off of the ego’s shoulders, still looking at him worriedly.

“Jackie?” He asked softly, not wanting to upset him in anyway. 

The hero flinched at suddenly hearing his name, his attention immediately shifting back to the YouTuber, eyes blown wide with fright. Jack bent his head down a tad bit, searching the masked man’s eyes for understanding, hoping he recognized him. 

“What’s wrong?” He once again used a gentle tone of voice, nearly whispering.

Jackie continued to stare at him with a hybrid of perplexity and fear for a drawn-out minute. He shook his head, taking glances over his shoulder again.

“I…I-I don’t…I don’t understand.” He stuttered, having a tough time getting out the words he wanted to say. “I-I was…Sh-She was there. I saw her and the way she looked, the-the way she…” A whine of distress slipped out of him before groaning out of annoyance for not making clear sense. “I saw her! I know what I saw – it was all dark and she –”

“She?” Jack interjected, tilting his head out of confusion. “What did you see, Jackie? Tell me.”

Jackie stopped his babbling and shifted his attention back onto his creator, staring at him, taking note of just how puzzled and bothered the man appeared to be. He licked his lips, hesitating to ask.

“You…You didn’t…You didn’t see her?” He took another glance over his shoulder, pointing out in the direction of where he had run off. “She was somewhere in there! Ilsa was in there, and she-she was undead, and there was some…some _thing_ there with her, and –”

“Whoa, wait, hold on. Ilsa? Henrik’s daughter?” Jack asked, looking at the ego puzzlement.

Jackieboy Man nodded, still taking worrisome glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, I saw her out there, but Jack, she –”

The Irishman shook his head. “But…But that’s not possible. No one from any one of your guys’ worlds can come wandering about out here in the open – you know that. Only you four came come out here.”

“I know, but I swear, Jack, I saw her. I _know_ I saw her.”

Jack shook his head slightly. “Jackie, I…I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I didn’t see anything. I just got here a moment ago, and within a minute of my arrival, you suddenly ran into me and started hitting me, freaking out and threatening to break my arm.” He said bewilderedly. 

It was Jackie’s turn to be stricken with major confusion. “What?” He blinked, turning to look back out at the eternal darkness of the void. “But…But I was out there…I know I was.” He whispered to himself out of thought. He looked back at Jack to see the man staring at him with uncertainty along with concern.

“Jackie, what’s going on? Are you feeling alright?” He moved forward to feel Jackieboy Man’s forehead. He hummed. “It doesn’t feel like you’re running a fever.”

Jackie groaned and grabbed Jack’s hand, pulling it away from his head. He shook his head. “I…I don’t know. Maybe it’s my ‘spidey-sense’ getting the better of me. I just…” He sighed with exhaustion, “I just thought that maybe something was wrong out here, that’s all. I guess I wanted some more action – more adventure – and came out here in search of it, I don’t know.”

The Irishman was still looking at him doubtfully. “You sure? Because you seemed extremely disturbed a moment ago. I know you’ve got your superhero instincts set to a high alert level and all, but I –”

Jackie’s eyes shot up to meet his. “I’ll be fine, Jack.” He shrugged. “Maybe…Maybe I need to try and distract myself with other things, you know? Get some hobbies – do some things that aren’t hero related. Change things up a bit and not let the adrenaline and need to prove myself get in the way too much.” 

Jack searched his eyes, trying to determine if the ego was telling the truth and would, indeed, be alright. After a good long minute of going over everything that had happened and what Jackie had said, he saw through the façade and noticed how the hero was keeping something from him. He was chewing on his lip and continuously looking around as though he was expecting to get jumped by something at any given moment. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“There’s something else bothering you…What is it?” He took a look past Jackie’s shoulder, seeing nothing but pure blackness. “Is it involving what you saw?”

Jackie didn’t reply, not instantly anyway. He was on edge, the things he had seen and heard repeatedly tormenting his mind to the point he wanted to curl into a ball. His fingers clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms through the fabric of his suit. He bit his bottom lip deeply, almost to the point of cutting it, hesitant to give an answer.

“Jack…nothing can get into the void…right?” His gaze slowly glided back to his creator, trepidation hanging off of each word that slide off of his tongue.

Jack blinked, having not really expected the question. He shook his head. “Right, nothing but me can come and go from here.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

Jackie stepped closer, a hybrid of worry and suspicion upon his face. “I…I think there’s something wrong with the void.”

His creator’s brows rose up into his hairline. “What makes you think that? If there was something wrong with the void, Jackie, I would be the first to know about it, believe me.”

The masked hero huffed. “I know, I know – and I believe you. But something doesn’t feel right to me. All afternoon, I’ve gotten nothing but bad vibes, and when I stepped out here to investigate, those vibes grew a lot worse.” He eyed the green-haired man as he motioned out to the egos’ portals. “I even called out to everyone, asking if everything was alright, but no one answered me back.” He scoffed. “Hell, no one even came out to see what the fuss was about.”

This got Jack’s immediate attention, if his eyes widening a tad bit was anything to go off of. “No one responded? No one?”

Jackie shook his head slowly, eyes firmly fixed onto the Irishman. Jack tore his gaze away, staring off at each portal with concern as Jackie continued.

“I know you’re not sick, Jack, and if something was troubling you, you’d tell us immediately, so I know that if something is in fact wrong here, it can’t be because of you.” He exhaled unevenly, taking an anxious look off to his left, spotting the circling blue ring to Dr. Schneeplestein’s home. “Thing is…after everything I just went through...I’m beginning to feel like something else is in here, with us, and my first guess is that it wants to bring harm to the good doctor.” He turned his attention back to his creator.

The Irishman seemed to tense up a bit only to relax almost instantly, turning his head to look at the ego with wonder. He raised a brow. “How would anything, aside from me, manage to get in here, Jackie? And if something were here, how is it you could sense it before me? And why would it target Henrik first out of all of us?”

Something was beginning to feel off yet again – Jackieboy Man could sense it. His heart was constricting tightly in his chest and the cancerous leech of warning and dismay he’d felt earlier on had returned, biting at his insides insistently to the point it was nearly driving him mad. There was something about Jack that wasn’t sitting right with him. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but the way the man was acting – the way he was responding, the way he was asking questions – none of it felt comforting. In a situation like this, the Jack he knew would surely try to put his mind at ease, he’d listen to what he had to say and fully recognize just how bothered the ego was. And he most certainly would be concerned about the other egos’ wellbeing after everything Jackie had said. The Irishman would NOT simply brush off his paranoia and retort back with questions about his suspicions like what he was doing now. His questions may have seemed logical and genuinely laced with worry, but with the way his gut was twisting into one tight knot after another, Jackieboy Man KNEW something wasn’t right with his creator. Either he was hiding something…or maybe…

Jackie licked his lips, telling himself to remain calm and not bombard the Irishman with questions. “I don’t know how it’d get in here…but maybe I sensed it first,” _Because you’re not really Jack,_ “because my ‘spider-sense’ kicked in and you were probably busy with something.” He took a brief glance back at the entrance to the good doctor’s home. “As for why it’d target Dr. Schneeplestein first…” His gaze slid back to his supposed creator, “he’s a doctor…he helps people, like me…He’s a necessity in this void…If he goes down, then the rest of us would end up going down with him, one by one. You take out the medic and the soldiers are left to fend for themselves.”

He swore for one fleeting moment he had gotten a brief glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corner of Jack’s lips, one eye twitching almost like he was holding himself back from saying or doing something. It made the hairs on Jackie’s neck stand up on end, only giving him all the more reason to be suspicious of who he was currently talking to. He swallowed and turned, eyeing Schneeplestein’s portal.

“I should go check on him, make sure everything is alright.” He moved to step forward, about to storm off to the doctor’s home.

“Now hold on a minute.” An arm lunged out and grasped the hero’s wrist, stopping him from proceeding any further. Jackie gave him a questionable look. “I’ll go.”

The hero’s heart gave a fierce jolt in his chest, not comfortable with the idea of Jack going in there to check on his friend. _Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…_

“Jack, I’m worried about him, okay? I have about as much right as you do to go in there and make sure the man’s fine.”

“I understand that, but Jackie, it’s my job – my sole responsibility – to come and check up on you all every day and make sure each and every one of you is happy, and more importantly, safe and sound.”

“Yes, but –”

“Jackie, just because you’re a hero, doesn’t mean you have to be responsible for every single life here in the void. That’s my job, not yours’.” He stated calmly yet firmly. “I get how your instincts are telling you that you need to make sure everything’s well, especially since it involves a close friend, but you shouldn’t put that sort of stress on your shoulders.” 

He leaned in a patted the hero’s shoulder lightly, looking into his eyes and showing sincerity. 

“Please. Go back to your world and resume your heroic duties there. Trust me enough to go and visit Henrik myself. I’ll go and see how he’s doing – hell, I’ll check up on the other two as well if it’ll put you at ease. I’ll report back to you, I swear on my name.”

That wasn’t sincerity in his eyes, that wasn’t even genuine kindness he was looking back at. Those blues eyes may have gave off the exact same look as Jack’s, but the heart and care was completely one-hundred percent gone and nonexistent. Whoever this was, they were straight up mocking the hero. Jackie stared at him for a dragged out minute, the cogs in his head turning, attempting to think of a plan. Finally, he gave a nod, tore his gaze away, and released a defeated sigh.

“Alright…Alright, fine, you’re right. I need to stop letting my ego get in the way.” He eyed him. “And I do trust you. You care for all of us just as much as we care for each other.” 

Jack gave a reassuring smile and began to move away from Jackie. “Of course. I created you guys, after all. Why _wouldn’t_ I care?” 

The masked man could barely breathe at this point what with how tight his chest felt. Those last few words…

Jack motioned for him to go on back to his part of the void as he slowly walked backward toward Schneeplestein’s portal. “Go on. Go back home. I’ll check back in with you within the hour, I swear it.” He beamed warmly before spinning on his heel, nearing the blue ring. “I’m sure everything’s alright. Knowing him, he’s probably just busy.” He scoffed. “Maybe he’s working things out with his family, who knows?” He stepped into the ring and with that, he was gone.

A vivid flash of Ilsa’s reanimated rotting corpse with her mangled face burst through the hero’s mind and he cringed violently, clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image. Inhaling and exhaling deeply to steady his poor nerves, the quivering Jackieboy Man reopened his eyes, his attention set on the open blackness of the void – the unmarked area for which he knew he had ventured out into moments ago. 

He knew what he had seen, he knew that something was here in the void and whatever it was was lurking within the depths of this world. The man he had been speaking with before – he may have looked and sounded like Jack but his overall demeanor was unnervingly questionable. He seemed to come off as knowing something Jackie didn’t and it was racking the poor hero’s body with apprehension. If he was Jack, someone or something must’ve done something to him. But if it wasn’t Jack…

Answers. He needed answers. And he needed them now.

Glancing out at the entrance to the doctor’s home for a split second before returning his attention to the darkness, the masked ego stood up straight, sucked in his one and only breath of bravery, and stormed off into the endless shadows of nightmares.

Jack had left to check up on Schneeplestein and was most likely going to check in on Marvin and Chase afterwards as well. Jackieboy Man had about no less than an hour to search for proof of what he feared – one hour for him to be the hero everyone knew him to be.

Only one hour to wander in the dark. And only one fear he honest-to-god hope wasn’t true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more breaks ;)


	17. Do You Really Like Him That Much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is easily one of the darkest chapters in the story. I don’t want to spoil too much, but naturally anyone who’s been reading the story should know by now just how gruesome this story can get. There is strong blood and violence in this chapter, particularly stabbing. There’s a sense of unease that gradually builds up and worsens as the chapter progresses, as well as the subject matter of someone losing their morality and giving into insanity. Severe threats are made towards a character, putting said character in a very vulnerable and helpless situation. There are two scenes in particular - while it’s more so heavily implied than it is “shown” - that can be deeply upsetting/disturbing to some readers. I, myself, felt so incredibly upset while writing both scenes that the second one actually made me tear up. You have been warned.

From up in the dark, gloomy afternoon skies, thunder roared with animosity. Bolts of lightning weaved through the clouds off in the distance, striking the ground violently, as heavy rain showered the neighbourhood; dousing anything and everything below. It was coming down so hard; the roads would’ve surely started flooding if it weren’t for the nearby storm drains. An icy cool breeze was circulating the air, drifting through the branches of the trees and taking loose leaves with it. It was godawful weather, and the man watching from inside his warm, comfortable home was quite puzzled by it. 

When was the last time they had had a storm come rolling in? He couldn’t recall. It was summer and for the last month or so, the weather had been nothing but pleasant – sunshiny days most of the time with rare cloudy periods in between. Sure, they had had a couple of rainy days, but nothing as scary and miserable as this. The weather channel had even recently reported how all week would be sunshine, staying at a decent temperature so no one would have to worry about baking their brains out. It was unfortunate, given how the family had figured they’d be going out to the beach the next day. Guess that wasn’t going to happen now.

Rick stood there staring out the window, a soft sigh of disappointment slipping out. He was a well-fit, handsome young man with a narrow cheekbone structure, and hair and eyes as dark as chocolate. He hadn’t shaven the last few days, evident with how stubble was encompassing his jaw. He was a tennis instructor down at the nearby recreational center, the very one where he had met Marta, his girlfriend of the last year now. Marta had regularly gone there for the occasional jog or to partake in a yoga session, only to then end up running into Rick a few days and have a couple of nice chats. Of course, the small talks and lunches together evolved into something more, and thus a relationship took off. The man wasn’t even remotely bothered by the fact that there were kids involved; he had always been friendly towards children and was more than delighted to meet six year old Trudy and little Ilsa. 

There had been a month-long period where there were slight complications, what with how Marta was still technically married and had yet to sit down and discuss the idea of divorce with her husband. Rick came to understand that there was quite a lot of conflict going on in the family – how Marta didn’t necessarily feel safe or content with her husband, yet refused to sever the marriage just yet since she was in desperate need of money. It was a lot to take in, and for a day or two, Rick needed some time to digest it all. But he was a reasonably understanding man and he could clearly see and hear just how distraught the woman was. He hated seeing her in such a low state of weakness and as such, he put his foot forward and insisted that she and the girls live with him until things could be sorted out properly. If she needed to get away from everything, then he would be more than willing to provide. And ever since early September of last year in 2016, they’d been together. 

Rick had the house to himself until sometime after six – two more hours and then Marta would be on her way home from work. He had already washed the dishes, folded the laundry, dusted the living room, and tidied up around the house. Glancing around outside once more, he muttered to himself, “Well, it’s not all that bad” before turning on his heel and walking off toward the kitchen. With the strangely calm pitter-pattering of rain outside, he figured it’d be a good idea to go and put on a pot of fresh hot coffee and read a good book.

He hadn’t noticed the ominous-looking man standing under a tree across the street, getting drenched by the rain and staring at the house hauntingly. Eyes of ice – wide and unblinking – lost in a malevolent trance and fixed onto the house, watching. Just watching as he began to hobble his way across the road, dragging his feet through the water and not even bothering to look both ways for any oncoming cars.

The coffee was almost done, and it was when Rick was pulling a mug from out of the cupboard when he heard a loud knock come from the front door. He stopped what he was doing, turning and leaning to the side to glance out at the door. His brows furrowed as he set the mug down before heading out of the kitchen. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, nor was it anywhere near the right time for Marta to be coming home. Maybe it was one of the neighbours? He reached the door and took a peek through the peephole to see who it was. A green-haired man donned in jeans, a sweater, and a long black unbuttoned trench coat was standing on the porch, soaking wet from head to toe. That was Henrik, wasn’t it? Marta’s husband? Rick had met him once way back in September and the German hadn’t seemed all too happy then. They hadn’t talked or seen each other since. So what had brought him to the house? What could he possibly want?

Turning the lock, Rick pulled open the door to see the man shivering from the cold, dripping all over the porch and eyes darting to him instantly. Rick blinked in surprise, doing a once over the German. He found it strange that even though the man was trembling all over, he wasn’t hugging himself to try and keep warm. 

“Henrik?” He questioned, still trying to figure out why his girlfriend’s husband was at their house.

The green-haired man’s lips twisted up into a small uneven smile, eyes widening a tad bit in alarm as though he just now realized someone was standing in front of him. 

“Rick! Hey, hi, hello.” He rambled off quickly. He chuckled lightly, moving a hand up to brush his sopping-wet bangs out of his eyes, his fingers twitching ever so slightly. “How’s it going? It’s been a vhile now, hasn’t it?”

It took a moment for Rick to even fully process what the man said, as he was too rallied up in his own questions. He met his eyes again.

“Yeah.” He nodded, pulling himself out of his head for a minute. “Yeah, it has.” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly where he stood. “How – How have you been lately? Everything at the hospital been alright?”

Henrik stared at him for a prolonged amount of time before he seemed to get the message. Rick admittedly found it mildly discomforting.

“Hmm? Oh! Vork! Right, yes, of course.” He stopped, mouth open and lips trembling. He was hesitating. “It’s been alright, actually. Zhings have been going quite vell.” He beamed lazily. “How about you?” There was a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips when he posed the question.

“That’s good to hear. Things have been pretty good here too.”

The green-haired man was staring at him unnervingly again, nodding in understanding. “Good, good.”

A cool, chilling pause drifted between the two men, and it wasn’t sitting right with the man of the house. He had a feeling deep down that Henrik was probably here to sort things out with Marta once and for all, and while he didn’t necessarily not like the German, he was wary about why the man chose now of all times to show up on their front porch. 

“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised you’re here, Henrik.” He confessed. “I mean, it’s been what, almost a year now since we last saw you? Forgive me, I’m just a bit confused is all.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright! Confusion vas expected.” The doctor stated.

Rick scanned his form yet again, taking in just how unkempt and weary the man actually looked. With how close they were standing apart, he could finally see just how truly rundown Henrik was. His skin was an unhealthy shade of white, bringing out the contours of his face. His eyelids appeared to be struggling to stay open and there were dark bags under his eyes, heavy with the dire need to sleep. Even his eyes were bloodshot red, glazed over with a haze of tiredness. No wonder he seemed so distant to Rick; he was probably so exhausted that he couldn’t concentrate on the now. 

He had hesitated when he was asked how he was doing. He had said he was doing alright. Maybe he was lying – maybe work was taking a toll on him and as a result, he wasn’t getting much sleep. Marta had told Rick before just how dedicated Henrik would get with his work at times, how he’d sometimes overwork himself without a care in the world. Perhaps that was the reason for him looking so fatigued and drained of life.

Rick swallowed, an empty feeling of sympathy swelling up in his chest. The guy had probably come from work and trudged his way through the cold, torrential rain just to come and speak with Marta. He couldn’t just tell the man to get off his property and leave – how much of an asshole would he be then for doing something like that? He released a breath as he met the doctor’s vacant stare.

“Would you like to come in – even just for a bit?” He offered, moving to gesture for Henrik to step inside. “This storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon – if anything, it’s supposed to be getting worse this evening.” 

Henrik shook his head, a shaken breath leaving him as chills racked his nerves. “Oh no, no, I don’t vant to be a bozher or anyzhing.”

“No, I insist. I just made a fresh hot pot of coffee. Come on.” He stepped out of the way as he opened the door wide for his guest. “Come on, you can at least have one cup of coffee before leaving.”

The German doctor’s face lit up at hearing this, a petite smile sluggishly crawling across his face. He couldn’t say no to a good ol’ cup of Joe. 

“Vell…I suppose one cup vouldn’t hurt.” He slurred, shuffling forward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he went to step inside the house.

Rick closed and locked the door behind them both as Henrik sighed a breath of relief at the warmth welcoming him. Rick immediately offered to take his coat, to which the green-haired man pretty much had to peel off of his dripping-wet limbs. 

“If you came here to see Marta, I’m sorry to disappoint you but she’s not here; she’s still at work. She won’t be getting off until six.” Rick explained as he went to hang up Henrik’s coat in the hall closet. “You’re more than welcome to stay here and wait until she comes home though.” He proceeded to head back out to the kitchen to pour them both a cup of coffee.

“Oh…Vell zhank you.” Henrik responded, taking a glance at the man before stumbling into the living room. He took glimpses at the furniture and décor around him, taking in his surroundings as he took a seat on the couch. “Actually, I didn’t come here to see Marta. To tell you zee truth, I came to speak vith you.” 

From where he was standing in the kitchen, Rick froze up, carefully putting the coffee pot back in place. “Me?” He questioned, his voice giving away just how genuinely thrown off he was. 

_Fuck. Is he here to talk to me about the relationship? He’s going to give me shit, isn’t he?_

He cursed under his breath. He didn’t want there to be any hard feelings between them whatsoever, for both Marta’s sake as well as the girls’. 

“Yeah. Look, I know ve didn’t get off on the right foot vhen ve first met. I know my behavior vasn’t all zhat appropriate, and I’d like to start over.” The German called out to the other room. “You know – get to know each ozher and all zhat.”

Well that didn’t sound all that bad. Maybe a good heart-to-heart chat would do both of them some good. Rick casted a glance at the clock, taking note of the time. Marta wouldn’t be home for quite some time. Who knew – maybe by the time she’d arrive, the two men would be laughing and sharing interesting stories with each other like really close friends. Rick could only hope, anyway, although he highly doubted that’d be the case. 

“How do you take your coffee?” He wasn’t going to reply back to what Henrik had said until he was seated in the living room with him.

“Black.” Just like his soul.

One dollop of cream and one spoonful of sugar later, Rick came walking into the living room with two mugs of piping-hot coffee, reaching one out for the doctor to take. He took it without hesitation and immediately took a large gulp of the beverage, humming with content at the warmth spreading throughout his insides. Rick took a sip of his own as he watched the green-haired man.

“Does that help?”

Henrik’s eyes darted to the man from over the edge of the mug. He kept his eyes focused on him as he lowered his drink from his mouth. He eyed the contents of the mug and shrugged, looking back at his host. A tired smile tugged at his lips.

“For now” is all he replied with.

Rick’s brows weaved together out of perplexity, not entirely understanding what he meant by that.

“For now?” 

“How has Marta been? And zee girls – how are zhey?” His face screwed up with confusion, turning his head to look towards the front door and stairway. He blinked slowly, his head bobbing a bit as though he was struggling to stay awake. “Vhere are zhey anyvay?”

Rick narrowed his eyes, a bit thrown off with how dismissive Henrik was about his question. “Uhh…They’ve all been pretty good. The girls are over at a friend’s place for a playdate – I’m not picking them up until later on.”

“And Marta – she’s happy? Have you been…treating her vell?” Henrik’s worn-down gaze shifted back onto the man of the house.

Rick blinked with bewilderment, beginning to feel as though he was being cornered for something. “What? Of course. I treat her with respect and show her the love she deserves.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

A derisive scoff left the German as he raised his mug. “I don’t know, Rick. Vhy vouldn’t you?” A slow gulp of coffee, cold eyes of warning fixed onto the man.

Okay, so that’s how it was going to be. He knew it.  Rick dropped his head and sighed deeply out of frustration. 

“Henrik, please.” He lifted his head to look back at the doctor with sincerity. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings.”

The green-haired man nearly choked on his drink at hearing those words. He pulled the mug away from his face and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table with a thud, swallowing and gawking at the man with mock surprise.

“You..don’t vant zhere to be…any hard feelings.” He imitated slowly, a smile tugging at his lips for a second only to die away instantly. The longer he was staring at Rick, the more he was starting to feel his blood boil with resentment. 

Rick shook his head, narrowing his eyes and looking at the German with uncertainty. 

“Henrik, are you alright? Seriously. I mean, physically, are you alright?” He asked, genuinely now worried for the man. He had already seen just how beat the guy was – he probably wasn’t in the best mental state either. He moved to set his mug down on the table and sighed softly.

“Look, I know you’re not going to like this, but Marta told me, okay? She told me about,” He waved his hand in a way that signified he was looking for the proper wording, “your condition.”

“And vhat, pray tell, did she tell you exactly?” His words slithered out as a harsh hiss, a double-edged sword forged in anger and heartache. He wanted to hear the truth, yet he truly didn’t. He wasn’t moving a muscle. He just sat there, still boring his eyes into the man opposite of him, pinning him where he sat. And though his overall face gave off the appearance of a harrowing cadaver, his eyes screamed with outright threatening fury. It forced Rick to think over his wording wisely.

“She told me…” He licked his lips, “She told me that, as of the end of October last year, you have gotten yourself into a bit of a drug addiction. An ether addiction, to be more precise.” Henrik scoffed and finally tore his gaze away, shaking his head in disbelief. “I noticed how tired you looked at the door and how slow you seem to be moving and reacting…And quite frankly, it makes me wonder if maybe you’re intoxicated right now.”

“Does it matter?” The German immediately retorted back, eyes darting back to the man across from him. The corners of his lips twitched, a fake smile straining to stay alive. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

“I don’t think you are, Henrik. And it’s okay to admit that – it’s okay to admit you have a problem.”

Thunder roared loudly from outside, the lights in the room flickering slightly. The smile faltered. 

“I don’t _have_ a problem.”

“We can get you some help.”

His right eye spasmed, smile long dead. “I don’t _need_ any help.” He murmured bitterly. He tilted his head, staring down his host with agitation. “Vhy do you even care, Rick?” He scoffed as a smirk played at his lips. “Vhat, is it because you’re trying to take me out of zee picture?”

“What?” Rick gaped, baffled by the doctor’s choice of words. “Wha – I-I’m – wait, _what?”_ He shook his head to tear himself out of his dumbfounded state. “No, of course not! I’m _worried_ about you, Henrik. If you have a drug addiction, I think you should seek help, for the sake of your family. Marta’s already uneasy as is, and God forbid if Trudy and Ilsa were to ever find out.”

Henrik’s shoulders straightened up, eyes blown wide as though he had just been triggered. “Is zhat a threat, Rick? You going to tell zee girls unless I back off?”

Rick blinked rapidly, only further stunned by what was coming out of the German’s mouth. 

“What? No! No, it’s not a threat. I’m genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, Henrik, _that’s_ what I’m trying to get across to you.” He stared at the green-haired man with sympathy, leaning forward to show that he was genuinely trying to get through to the man. “Look, while we didn’t get off on the right foot at first – and it seems that way still – I don’t view you as a bad person, Henrik. In all honesty, I think you’re a good man, and –”

He laughed. He outright threw his head back and released a hair-raised laugh that forced Rick to sit upright back in his seat.

“HA! ‘A good man!’” The doctor suddenly chortled aloud like it was the most absurd joke he’d ever heard. “Vhat a load of crap!”

Tendrils of unease were beginning to slither up along Rick’s spine at the abrupt change in behavior. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not stupid, Rick, contrary to vhat you might zhink.” Henrik eyed him, languid smile tugging at his lips yet again. “Drop zee whole ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ act already.”

His brows furrowed together, not at all understanding what he meant. “Excuse me?” He shook his head. “‘Act’? What do you mean ‘act’? I’m being serious, Henrik.”

A tiny mocking chuckle bubbled out of the green-haired man’s throat, not buying what the man had said. He lolled his head back onto the back cushion of the couch, lazy smile plastered on his dazed and too-tired face.

“Like hell you are. You’re acting all nice and sympathetic…And you’re carefully considering zee right vords to use…so you don’t find yourself stepping on a landmine.” He drawled, the smile morphing into an incredibly frightening grin that sent sharp needles of discomfort into Rick’s chest. “You’re putting on a safe, friendly show as zhough Marta’s here, vatching from over your shoulder. Like you’re vorried about upsetting her.”

He exhaled a breath as he glanced around the room.

“But Marta’s not here.” With a blink, he had his attention locked back onto Rick. “It’s just you and me…I vanted to talk vith you, so let’s do exactly zhat. No more of zhis ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ bullshit. Time to get everyzhing out in zee open once and for all, and talk man to man, vouldn’t you say?”

Thunder boomed angrily, startling Rick as he sat there, letting the unwanted tension build. The doctor was testing him, just waiting to see if he’d cave and wrench his honest thoughts and feelings out of himself. It was a daring game, a risky decision. Henrik already seemed on the very edge of having every last nerve of his severed, ready to tear a gaping hole into the man. Rick may have wanted to be on Henrik’s good side from the start, but he had to face facts: Henrik wasn’t remotely interested in making amends. He swallowed thickly and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“You want to know what I really think?”

The green-haired German moved to sit up straight, firmly staring back at the man. “I do.”

Rick bit his lower lip, chewing at it nervously before nodding.

“I think you’re an immature, irresponsible man who has been consumed by madness and is on the cusp of losing everything he holds dear for good.” He openly admitted, feeling the words getting pulled out of him. The soft tone of voice he had been using before had become long lost now. “I think you’re untrustworthy and a hazard to be around, and as such, I can understand why Marta and the kids left you.”

Henrik visibly tensed up at hearing this, and yet the eerie smile remained etched into his face.

“You don’t seem to really have your head in the right place.  You’re either far too invested in your work or not at all. One moment you don’t seem to give a damn about your family, and the next, they’re all you can think about. You curse a lot, you have an untamed temper, and you’ve gotten yourself into a horrible drug addiction. I thought you were unstable to begin with but now it’s unfortunately gotten so much worse that you’re not just becoming a danger to your own family but to your own self as well.” 

His fingers twitched, clawing at the fabric of the couch out of restrained irritation. The smile was struggling to remain in place, an otherworldly darkness growing in his eyes. The doctor wasn’t really truly listening to what the man had to say – his words were beginning to fade out into very distantly faint murmurs of gibberish. The ether that he had taken long before he had arrived was fogging up his mind completely to the point he couldn’t fully function properly. His vision was going in and out of focus, blurring and distorting Rick’s face every couple of seconds to show him how the man was mocking him with a sneer, practically rubbing in his face that he was Marta’s true lover. All he could see was that sneer and a gleam of unruly condescension in his godawful eyes. He wanted to rip those eyes right out of their sockets. God, how he wanted to drive his fingers in and pull them out.

A soft hypnotic whisper began to flourish inside his mind, echoing from one ear to the next as though he had someone at either side of him filling his head with false truths. It was blocking out what the man across from him was saying and was instead inserting incorrect words in their place.

**_“You’re pathetic – an absolute waste-of-space piece of trash who calls himself a doctor. You’re not a doctor. You haven’t saved anyone. Hell, you can’t even save your damn marriage. It’s no wonder Marta left you. Why would she want to spend the rest of her life with a freak like you? That’s why she has me. I’m not immature, irresponsible, and completely fucked in the head like you are.”_ **

His body tightened up further, digging his nails into the sofa as he listened. The smile was slipping. He bored his glassy eyes into his host, seeing the illusion smirk back at him smugly. 

**_“I can satisfy her in ways you could never do for her.”_ **

He sucked in a sharp breath of air. His heart constricted tightly in his chest at hearing those arrogant words slide off of the bastard’s tongue with such disgusting pride. A faint, uneven cackle crept out of the doctor, a spark of green flickering in his right eye as he nodded.

“So zee truth finally comes out, doesn’t it?” He didn’t blink as he stared at the man, holding a death-grip on his seat. “Is zhat vhat she told you…huh? Zhat I’m a freak…a failure as a doctor and a husband?” His voice was softening down to a faint yet harsh whisper, the smile dying. “Or,” He chuckled creepily, tilting his head ever so slightly, “are you zee one who filled her head with such nonsense?” 

Prickles of apprehension relentlessly chewed into Rick’s nerves, a state of petrification overriding his body. There was no mistaking the animosity in the doctor’s voice now, and with just how he was acting, Rick felt so uncomfortable to the point he may as well have been sitting in a chair made of nails. This conversation was drifting off into uncharted, treacherous territory and he honestly no longer felt safe being in the same room with Henrik. He swallowed, noting how his throat had gone dry.

“I did no such thing, Henrik, and I don’t think you’re a freak; I simply think you’re a man in desperate need of help. I without a doubt believe that you have a heart and genuinely do care about Marta and the girls, but your behavior is only going to further push them away – you must agree with me on that.” He tried, making one more attempt to get through to the man.

The German doctor only heard and saw the personification of derision.

**_“Damn right I filled her head up,” He smirked wickedly, “and her head wasn’t the only thing I filled.”_ **

Henrik’s breathing hitched, his heartrate picking up.

**_“You don’t have a heart and you need more help than you can get. Marta’s never going to take you back, and you and I can both agree on that.”_ **

“I don’t need to _fucking_ agree vith you on anyzhing.” The green-haired man unexpectedly snapped, a harsh growl coming out in the process. 

“Okay, alright, I tried.” Rick stood up and motioned to the front door. “I want you to leave right now. Please.” He shook his head. “I tried to reason with you, I tried to be nice, but you clearly don’t want anything to do with me, and I’m not going to argue with you any further.” He pointed at the door. “Please get your coat and leave.”

A flicker of a smirk pulled at the corner of Henrik’s lips before vanishing. He shook his head. “No.”

Rick blinked. _“Excuse me?”_

The doctor chortled as he rose to his feet, a look alternating between rage and heartache wavering on his face. A small smile was on his face, but his eyes screamed how he was on the edge of breaking. “No. No, no, no, no. I’m not leaving until zhis – all of zhis – has been settled.” 

He began to step around the coffee table, moving to head over to Rick, not tearing his gaze away nor taking the time to blink. Rick instantly stepped backward, cautiously inching away from the man.

“Vhat did you do to her?...Vhat zee _hell_ did you do to my vife?” Henrik demanded, the spasming of his right eye starting up again. His jaw clenched up tight. “You told her zhings, I know you did.”

“Henrik, I – ”

“You planted untrue zhings about me in her head just zhough you could have her all to yourself, didn’t you? Didn’t you?! Admit it!” He yelled, unbridled wrath reaching the surface and boiling over in his eyes.

Rick nearly stumbled back into the nearby credenza at the sudden outburst. “I didn’t do anything to her!”

“Lies!” A twisted wrongful grin flashed across his face as an unearthly giggle rang out of his vocal cords. He shook his head. “You lying fucker.” 

There was a shine in his eyes, evidence that they were watering. His lips were trembling, having difficulty keeping the grin wide and bright. He slowly approached Rick, his head jerking unnaturally to the right with a loud crack. Rick jolted at the sound, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. Thunder shook the house, the lights threatening to go out. 

“You took her from me.” Henrik said in a hushed breath. A lone tear fell from one of his eyes, streaming down his cheek.

Rick shook his head in disagreement. “Now, Henrik, you know that’s not true. She left you on her own accord.”

“Because of vhat _YOU_ did to her! _YOU_ are to blame for _EVERYZHING!”_

His voice was unsteady, not sounding all that much like himself anymore. Rick could’ve sworn it was changing intervals, going from deep to higher pitched. The doctor’s right eye flickered a sickening green, then black, as a dark substance began to well up inside. Rick’s brows weaved together out of concern, raising a hand warily as to show Henrik he didn’t mean any harm. 

“Henrik, your eye – it’s – ”

“Have you slept vith her?” 

His heart clenched so suddenly, the air was knocked right out of him. Rick’s eyes widened, frozen still where he stood. He couldn’t look away from Henrik’s haunting gaze, he couldn’t move a muscle. That specific question had him completely immobilized because he knew – he knew – he was trapped. He was thoroughly, unconditionally _fucked._ And the worst part? Henrik knew it.

“W-What?” He stammered, his throat drying up even further. He could hear his heart beating away in his head out of fear. “H-Henrik, that’s a bit – ”

“Have. You. Slept. Vith. Her?” The doctor seethed, the rage becoming the more dominate emotion again. He giggled inappropriately as though it was a joke to him. His facial expression loosened up, the gut-wrenching despair taking back control. The smile he had had was quivering from his need to cry, just barely hanging on; his entire body shaking all over from pent-up emotions. “D-Did you defile my vife?” He whispered, voice cracking out of anguish.

Rick’s heart skipped a painful beat at hearing the crack. “H-Henrik, please, I don’t want to – ”

“TeLL mE, yoU fUcKiNG coWaRD!” Henrik very suddenly surged forward, his entire body quite literally tearing apart at the seams and glitching out spastically right before Rick’s own eyes. His voice reached a whole other level of frightening; a growl of demonic fury and ear-piercing hatred. A loud abrupt rumble of thunder only added onto the terror, the lights of the house shutting off instantly, engulfing the two men in shadows.

Rick staggered back out of horror, mouth hanging agape in shock. His throat had gone as dry and rough as sandpaper that he couldn’t even produce a sound. He could only look on in unspeakable terror at the unhinged, infuriated man vibrating and convulsing from a few feet in front of him. Henrik panted and groaned, a whimper of pain slipping from his parted lips. He swayed where he stood, a hand clutching his head while the other quickly grasped onto a chair near him. A line of black was oozing out of his right eye, running along his paled face.

“W…W-What’s happened to you?” Rick croaked, heart thudding away in his head.

Henrik slowly lifted his head to glance at the fear-stricken man and went to say something only to not get the chance. The cry of a baby interjected the ever-growing tension.

Both men stiffened in place, both immobilized for much different reasons. 

The green-haired doctor’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, a tremor of realization channelling up his spine at hearing the baby cry. He sluggishly moved his head to the left, a subtle twitch in his neck, looking in the direction of the staircase. He tilted his head and glanced upward, his jaw tightening in place. His body was ever so slightly shaking all over again. Rick, on the other hand, was overcome with full-on panic. His breathing was picking up, as was his heartrate. In fact, his heart was racing so fast now, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears was deafening. He took a nervous look at the stairs before eyeing Henrik with nauseating foreboding.

The doctor’s eye twitched, black ooze bubbling out and dribbling down his cheek. Slowly – _excruciatingly slow_ – he moved to direct his attention back at Rick, a cringe-worthy crack coming from his neck as it jerked abnormally. His eyes were as wide as possible, dark with hostility and just waiting for the man of the house to tempt fate.  His fingers were fidgeting at his sides, evidence that he was itching to lose control and do something horrible. He was about to break.

“V-Vhat…zee fuck…is zhat?” He hissed so quietly, Rick could barely even make out what he said.

Icy cold chills tore through Rick’s veins at briefly seeing the doctor’s face morph into one of fake happiness – a wavering smile playing at his lips even though tears were wetting his eyes. He jolted at seeing a split-second projection of the man gripping his hair and laughing hysterically. He lifted both of hands up in defense.

“H-Henrik…”

“You…” A deeply unnerving chuckle left the German as a tear escaped his left eye. “Y-You defiled my vife?” Yet again, another perturbing whisper. The smile was slipping, the terrifying intimidation returning with a vengeance. “You…actually…defiled…my vife?” 

The voice in his head was feeding him insidious thoughts of the most wrongful deeds to commit. It echoed as it softly insisted he butcher the man in front of him, that the fucker deserved to have his insides on his outside. 

Rick shook his head and took a step back, moving closer towards the side table. “Henrik, please, I can – ”

“You _fucked_ my vife.” Henrik spat with such revulsion, Rick felt his guts twisting up into knots. An extremely upsetting giggle bubbled out of his vocal cords as he shook his head slowly. “I’m going to kill you.” He whispered. 

Rick’s heart stuttered, his blood running ice cold through his veins. “What?”

Henrik was grinning, a disturbing laugh escaping him as tears of both clarity and darkness ran down his face. “I’m going to kill you.” He took a step forward.

Rick backed away, keeping his hands out in front of him. “N-Now wait, hold on. Henrik, p-please.”

“I’m going to kill you.” Another step closer.

“Please hear me out. I can explain!” The man pleaded desperately.

“I’M gOiNG tO FuCKiNg KiLL YoU, yOu SiCk FuCK!” Henrik’s body tore apart in an array of pixels as he lunged at Rick, eyes briefly glowing neon green.

Rick screamed out of alarm, but it was short-lived. The doctor collided into him, grabbed him and pulled him in close, and instantaneously, all time seemed to slow down to a halt. A winded gasp was knocked out of him as his eyes shot open in horror. 

An excruciatingly sharp pain was borrowing its way through his stomach.

Letting out a choked breath, he hesitantly lowered his gaze downward to find the German’s hand wedging a scalpel blade deep into his abdomen; a patch of crimson red quickly beginning to spread across his shirt. The man shook where he stood from both the shock and fear, lifting his head to stare into the glitching doctor’s eyes. There was nothing but murder in Henrik’s eyes.

“H-Hen-rik…” Rick rasped, groaning loudly as he felt Henrik twisted the blade without mercy.

Henrik glowered at him sinisterly, a low static-laced growl rumbling in his throat. He didn’t say anything; he merely tore the blade out of the man and plunged it right back in, deeper than the first time. And he didn’t stop. He didn’t let the man go, he didn’t back away. He kept on driving his bloody scalpel into him over and over again, forcing it further inside to slice open Rick’s stomach entirely. Rivulets of blood streamed out, running through Henrik’s fingers and over Rick’s pant-covered legs; a puddle of crimson forming at their feet. Rick released a spluttering scream, feeling fluid coming up his esophagus with each stab. He started pushing against Henrik’s chest frantically, mustering as much strength as he could to try and get the man away from him, but he couldn’t do it. The German may have appeared smaller than him but there was some case of supernatural power keeping him grounded where he stood, not even remotely letting up. 

“H-Henrik, p..p-ple-ease!” He choked, spitting up a mouthful of blood. That’s all he could taste now: his own hot iron-filled blood.

“You son of a bitch, how could you?! _How could you ruin her?!”_ Henrik demanded as he drove home another ruthless stab to Rick’s gut. He leaned in far too close for comfort, practically pressed right up against the man, and hissed venomously into his ear, “Did you _enjoy_ taking vhat vas mine? Did you _enjoy_ corrupting her vith your filth? DiD YoU?!” 

He jerked his hand, rotating the scalpel sharply before yanking it out, pushing away from the man, and very suddenly jabbing it into the side of Rick’s neck. Rick gasped, tilting his head back and staring at Henrik with terror, a hand immediately moving up to claw at the doctor’s. The mad man ripped the scalpel out and shoved Rick to the ground without effort, a vast amount of blood spurting out of the fresh open wound in the man’s neck. Rick collapsed, pressing a shaky hand to his neck in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding. He wheezed and coughed, gurgling up blood and shuddering violently on the floor stained red. His vision was going in and out of focus, constantly blurring as spots of black and red speckled the edges. He could feel his heart racing, pounding fiercely against his rib cage as it tried hastily to supply enough blood. Cold, raw fear dug its talons into his veins and yanked at them torturously as he watched Henrik crouch down to straddle him. 

“H…H…H-He-Hen – ”

“Vell how much are you enjoying _zHiS?!”_ The green-haired man’s head stuttered and jerked from left to right, an intense glitch taking a hold of him. With not an ounce of remorse or hesitation shown and only unrighteous fury consuming his mind, Henrik snapped. 

Repeatedly he brought his armed hand up and down in a blurring motion, viciously stabbing the defenseless man in an act of blinding rage and hatred. Warm sticky red sprayed up into his face and along his arms as he tore into Rick’s abdomen without care, some splattering the walls and furniture around them. Rick weakly squirmed and writhed beneath the demented surgeon, using his free trembling hand to give a feeble attempt at stopping Henrik. Thunder and lightning went off outside, the storm worsening horribly; the light illuminating the unstable man’s ghastly features of sadistically warped madness. His form was glitching and twitching again, getting pulled in every which direction and flickering spastically to show a version of himself laughing like a depraved psychopath. 

“EaT mY FuCKiNg bLAdE, yoU UsELeSs,” A deep plunge into the gaping hole, “PaThETiC,” Another coldblooded stab, _“MuZHeRFuCKa!”_ He screeched right in his face, a literal stomach-churning twist of the blade.

A wheezing breath plagued with the stench of copper broke out of the helpless man, his hand slipping from where it was on Henrik’s shoulder. His vision began to fade, a thick haze of white enveloping him as his heartrate decreased.

_Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…lub-dub…lub-dub…lub…dub…lub……dub……lub……_

Both of his hands dropped, flopping down to the floor and laying there limply. His eyes remained fixed on the doctor over him, a glassy look of horror forever encased in them. One last faint breath snuck its way past his lips before his body laid still.

Henrik’s horrific outburst of ire and turmoil gradually began to simmer down, still looming over Rick’s carcass and shoulders shaking with leftover anger. He was breathing heavily, the glitching of his body settling down until he was groaning softly; hunched over and closing his eyes tightly shut at feeling an ache coming from behind his eyeballs. 

A faint hiccup-sob came from behind him.

Henrik’s eyes shot open wide, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest as he stared down at his blood-soaked hands.

_No…No, it can’t be…_

At hearing another soft sob along with a sniffle, he lifted his head and ever-so-slowly, hesitantly turned to glance over his shoulder. He swore his heart stopped beating for a solid minute.

Two little dark-haired girls – ages six and four – were huddled close together on the stairs, peeking through the bars, having seen everything. Their eyes were red, puffy, and bordering on breaking down into tears. There was true-blown fear clouding both sets of innocent eyes.

Henrik couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could barely even think clearly. He was petrified with the realization that his daughters had caught him slaughtering their mother’s boyfriend. 

_No…No, no, no, they – they can’t be here. He – ,_ He turned back to look down at Rick’s frozen expression of horror. He shook his head slightly, right eye twitching as he felt the agitation return, _He said they were at a friend’s for a playdate…He said they were out._

Two sets of faint hiccupping sobs came from behind him, one of the girls sniffling, the other softly whining and sounding like she was about ready to cry.

“D..D-Daddy?” A sweet voice choked up, giving away frightened nerves.

The German doctor’s heart constricted tightly, punching the breath out of him. He’d never heard Trudy – the oldest of his daughters – sound so scared, and when he twisted his body to see her, a pang of earthshattering agony crushed his heart at seeing her and her sister flinch, moving to go up the stairs. He immediately dropped the scalpel and stood up, mouth open and grappling with finding the right words. 

“Trudy…Ilsa…My girls! I-I didn’t see you zhere.” He exclaimed, a sad smile flashing across his face momentarily. He opened his arms out wide as though to give them an invitation for a hug, forgetting about the blood all over his hands. “I’m so happy to see you! Come here, give Daddy a big ol’ hug.” He chuckled lightly, his eyes threatening to start watering once more. “H-He really needs one right now.”

Neither of the girls dared to move, they were far too traumatized from what they’d witnessed. Ilsa was already silently crying, evidently deeply upset with what she saw her daddy do, while Trudy was taking glances between Rick’s bloodied corpse and her father spattered with the man’s blood. She shook her head slowly and inched closer to her little sister, giving her a small nudge, signalling her to carefully start moving up the stairs. Henrik blinked with a mixture of confusion and heartbreak, having a hard time understanding why neither of his daughters were happy to see him. He stepped over Rick and cocked his head.

“Girls?”

Ilsa whined, a few tears dripping from her eyes as she backed up, gripping onto Trudy’s dress out of fright. “T-Trudy…” She sniffled.

“Go.” Trudy whispered shakily, nudging her sister again.

Henrik’s body unexpectedly glitched, producing a projection of himself lurching forth and screaming at the girls out of irritation. Both of the girls shrieked and jolted, Trudy instantly turning and pushing her little sister to move.

“Go!” She cried, both of them not at all hesitating to race up the stairs.

Henrik growled under his breath and bolted after them, his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Girls! Hey! Vait! Vhere are you going?” He took a sharp corner, nearly running into a wall. He watched as the girls ran towards Trudy’s bedroom. “Get back here!”

The girls ran screaming and crying into the room, immediately closing the door behind them. Henrik charged at the door, slowing down before he could collide with it. He grabbed the handle and rattled it to find it was locked, rapping on the door with his free hand; Rick’s blood smearing over it.

“Trudy? Trudy, sveetheart, come on, open up.” He begged, sorrowful smile dancing across his face. He rested his forehead on the door, closing his eyes. “You veren’t supposed to see any of zhat. Please, open zee door.”

He could make out the silent sobs of his daughters coming from the other side. Annoyance was manifesting inside of him in the form of a haunting whisper.

_“Rick did this. You know Rick did this. He messed with Marta and he messed with the girls too.”_

He snarled as his form started vibrating with the urge to lose control. His eyes snapped open as he rattled the handle again rather aggressively.

“Trudy, sveetheart?” There was a sinister tone to his voice, no longer coming off as the loving, caring father anymore. He stared at the door momentarily before slamming his hand against it violently. 

_“Trudy.”_ He seethed warningly, right eye twitching irritably. His fingers coiled up into a tight fist, banging it against the door with hostility. “OpEn zHiS FuCKiNg dOoR RiGHt NoW!” He bellowed. 

The loud thuds accompanied with his yelling earned him the shrill shrieks of his daughters followed by much more audible cries. Henrik glared at the door, his breathing increasing and becoming uneven due to the wrath festering in the bowels of his being. 

The crying of a baby echoed through the hall and drifted into the doctor’s ear. And with it, the rage grew tenfold.

Henrik’s eyes widened as he turned his head, staring down the hallway and locking onto the room from which the wailings of distress were coming from. He suddenly wasn’t so concerned about his daughters anymore. As though he was in a trance, he found himself dragging his feet towards the room, a blood-red haze casting over his line of sight. He reached the doorway, standing there in the shadows, an insidious cancer of evil intentions afflicting his heart and brain simultaneously. Thunder crackled deafeningly, a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky and shedding light onto the crib up against the far wall. The upsetting cries of the baby increased at the noises the storm was causing, and Henrik was staring directly at the crib, unblinking.

_“Do it.”_ The voice spoke up. _“It’s not yours’, it’s that fucker’s who’s in a pool of his own blood downstairs. Why hesitate?”_ It snapped angrily. _“You know what needs to be done.”_

In that instance, the green-haired man seemed to have a moment of clarity, a wave of nausea crashing down over him at the mere thought of doing… _that._ He shook his head slowly, lips trembling out of fear of knowing the darkness had a hold of him now whether he liked it or not.

“N-No…No, no, no, I…” He swallowed thickly, tears threatening to fall, “I-I can’t.” He whispered aloud to himself. 

_“Don’t argue! Need I remind you of what that son of a bitch did to our wife? He defiled her – dirtied her up. Planted his fucking seed in her and brought that abomination into the world.”_ The voice hissed, speaking maliciously of both Rick and the baby across the room, wailing and in need of comfort. 

Henrik cringed and winced as a throbbing pain erupted behind his eyes. He whimpered and tried to fight it, mustering as much will power he had left. He felt physically ill at the idea.

“N-No…Please…” A lone tear raced down his cheek. “D-Don’t make me do zhis.”

_“You know you have to…because deep down…you know that if you let that THING live,”_ It was morphing into a monstrous growl, _“you won’t have the heart to raise it yourself…You’ll leave it to fucking starve.”_

Another tear fell as his head jerked, spasming for a fleeting second. An abhorrent hybrid of disgust, rage, and gut-wrenching sadness devoured him whole as he casted his gaze down to a pillow sitting on a chair to his right.

_“Time to clean up the mess he made.”_

“You’re right.” Henrik reached for the pillow and went to close the door, a hurt smile spreading across his face. “You’re absolutely right.”

* * * * *

It wasn’t until 6:45 P.M. when Marta came home. As soon as she parked in the driveway, she grabbed her stuff, got out of the car, and rushed up the steps to the door, wanting desperately to get out of the storm before it could get any worse. She fumbled with her keys, fumbling with them until she found the right one and unlocked the door. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” She called out, shutting the door and turning around to set her stuff down. “I had to stay back for – ”

There was a scatter of dark red droplets along the floor in front of her. She sucked in a breath, her heart skipped an agonizing beat. She moved forward, not taking her eyes off of the floor.

“Rick?” She shouted, setting her keys down on the cubby nearest to the front door. She took at glance up the staircase. “Rick, are you home?” 

No answer, only the unwelcoming silence of dread. She swallowed and looked back down at the red on the floor with unease. She made out the crackling of wood and glanced into the living room to find a warm fire roaring in the fireplace. Her brows furrowed out of puzzlement. If a fire was going, someone had to be home. She sighed agitatedly and stepped into the other room.

“If this is some kind of joke, it’s not – Oh – Oh my – Oh my God!” A hand slapped across her mouth, eyes blown wide in horror at discovering a large puddle of crimson near the credenza, red patterns having been sprayed across the wall and furniture nearby. The living room looked like a fucking crime scene and there was no way that was fake blood – there was no way that was fake; that looked and _smelled_ real. 

Marta staggered backward, fear making itself at home. Something was very wrong. No one had greeted her at the door, no one had answered her calls, and yet there was a fire going and what appeared to be someone’s blood decorating the one half of the room. She ran into the coffee table and nearly tripped, quickly catching herself against the couch. As she did, she managed to spot something burning away in the fireplace out of her peripheral vision. She lifted her head and inched closer, narrowing her eyes out of confusion but also worry, evident with how her breathing had increased. She leaned down a bit and felt her stomach twist at what she saw.

A handful of pictures of her and Rick were getting eaten away by the flames, the one on top with the portion with Rick already having been devoured.  

Marta immediately backed away and spun around, hurrying to the phone. She needed to call the cops. Whatever the hell this was – whether it was a sick prank or not – she felt like there was a pair of eyes watching her and she did not feel safe in the slightest. Attempting to keep her breathing even, she picked up the phone and went to dial, only to find that the line was dead. With the power out, she couldn’t use the home phone. She cursed and dropped it on the couch before racing over to her purse and fishing out her cell. She nearly jumped out of her skin when it started ringing, a sudden loud roar of thunder following soon after. She held her breath at what the caller I.D. read: Henrik. 

Her hand shook as she stared at her phone. Why would Henrik be calling her now of all times? They hadn’t actually seen each other in almost a year, and the last time they had, Henrik had met Rick and wasn’t all too friendly. So why the hell would – 

Her heart gave a fierce pang as though it was trying to warn her. _No…No, he…he wouldn’t…He couldn’t._

Expelling a shuddering breath, she answered. There was the annoying sound of static for a few seconds before everything fell unnervingly silent. Marta licked her lips, breathing uneven and jagged. “H-Hello?”

There was a prolonged pause, followed by very faint breathing in her ear.

“You vere going to call zee cops on me, Marta?” A pained German voice questioned.

Her eyes widened. _How the hell did he – ?_

She shook her head even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “H-Henrik? Wha – ? Is this some kind of twisted joke to you?” Her nerves were heard as clear as day in her words and she knew he could hear it all. She was scared and there was no way of denying that.

“I don’t know. Is it to you?” His voice fell flat with aggravation, which admittedly sent a shiver up Marta’s spine.

She hesitated to speak. “W-Where’s Rick?...Where are the girls?” She was staring at the blood-splattered wall with wide eyes, feeling herself beginning to tremble all over. “D-Did you do this?”

“Vhy did you leave me, Marta?...Hmm?” He asked softly, his tone shifting back to its innocent state. “I alvays cared for you, alvays showed my love. I vorked hard for our family to be wealthy and happy, and…” A light chuckle bristled the hairs at the back of Marta’s neck, “and you just valked all over me…Vhy?”

Marta couldn’t take her eyes away from the bloody display in front of her, her mind conjuring up a bunch of horrifying scenarios that could’ve played out. 

“H-Henrik, please…where are Rick and the girls?” 

“You’re my girl… _Mine_ …No one else’s…You do know zhat, don’t you?” He wasn’t listening to her, he was continuing to avoid the question. He scoffed. “It’s a fucked up zhing, isn’t it? You used me, trampled all over me, zhrew me to zee curb and spat in my face, and yet,” There was a pause, a shaken sigh of content expelling from him, “I still love you. I still adore you vith everyzhing I have – a lovesick fool – and I vould do anyzhing – _anyzhing_ – to have you back in my arms.”

Marta shut her eyes and bit her lower lip hard, fighting the oncoming urge to start crying. She was trying so hard not to lose her mind.

“W-Where are Rick and the girls, Henrik? P-Please, just…” She stopped herself, needing a moment to breathe, “j-just tell me, please. _Please.”_ She pleaded, reopening her eyes to be greeted by the bloodstains on the wall again.

But Henrik didn’t pay attention – he carried on.

“No one else can have you – not him, not anyone but me. I-I von’t allow it!” Static unexpectedly corrupted the line for a few seconds before he could be heard again. “Only I get to touch you, only I get to have you all to myself.” An eerie giggle – something outright evil and psychotic – caused the terrified woman to gasp softly. “Anyone who lays a hand on you vill never see zee light of day again.” He chortled.

Marta couldn’t take it anymore. “Jesus Christ, Henrik, please! Where are they?!” Tears were welling up in her eyes.

A pregnant silence filled the room, only Marta’s unsteady breathing and the crackling of the fire in the fireplace resounding off of the walls.

“Do you really like him zhat much?” He croaked, sounding incredibly hurt. It sounded like he too was bordering on wanting to cry.

Marta ran a hand over her face, then pushed her hair back, becoming increasingly more stressed out. “Henrik, please, s-stop, I’m begging you to stop.”

“I know vhat you did…I know vhat you both did.” She could hear the smile in his voice but there wasn’t a sliver of happiness heard. “You callous bitch.” He muttered, voice cracking in the process. “You insensitive cunt.”

“Henrik, please, where – ”

“Have you checked zee nursery?”

The phone nearly slipped from Marta’s hand at hearing that question. Her heartrate spiked instantly, light-headedness washing over her brain. “W-What?” Her mouth had gone as dry as chalk within seconds flat.

A godawful childish giggle was heard from the other end. “Vhy don’t you go upstairs and see vhat’s in zhere?”

Her gaze shifted from the wall to the staircase, a knot of trepidation rapidly taking form in her belly. She didn’t dare ask him any questions of the sort. She headed to for the stairs and cautiously began to ascend them, keeping the phone close. If it was possible, it was so much quieter on the top floor. There was a harrowing aura in the air; she could sense it the moment she reached the top of the stairs. It was suffocating – she could physically feel that something unspeakable had occurring and she had never known true fear until that very moment. She directed her attention to the nursery down the hall and her breathing picked up. Fearfully, she advanced to the room and stepped inside. Nothing seemed all that out of the ordinary – nothing was out of place, except…

There was a pillow in the crib. There was a pillow in the crib and under it there was – 

The phone fell to the floor with a loud thud as a pillar of devastation plummeted into her.

“N-No…No…No, no, no, no! No! Please no – PLEASE NO!” She dashed to the crib and yanked the pillow away.

From the other end of the phone, Henrik heard the most devastating, bloodcurdling scream.

“NOOO! NOOO! GOD, NO, MY BABY! MY BABY!” She wailed in anguish, finally breaking down and practically drowning in her own tears. 

She crumpled to the ground, rocking back and forth as she held the corpse of her one month old baby boy; life cruelly taken away by a mad man. Marta screamed and cried for what felt like ages, heart shrivelling up and tearing itself apart in her chest. Everything seemed to had gone completely stone grey in her eyes, a part of her having been murdered without care. She cradled her tiny unmoving son in her arms, keeping him close to her as though she thought her body warmth could revive him. 

A faint static-laced laugh could be heard coming from her phone by the door.

Marta sniffled and raised her head, looking through her tear-blurred eyes to see her phone sitting by the doorway. She choked on a sob as she shuffled herself over to it, not daring to let her son go. She grasped the phone with her free hand and brought it to her ear.

“You sick, heartless son of a bitch!” She screamed at him, more tears overflowing her eyes and cascading down her already tear-stained face. “How could you?! HOW COULD YOU?!” She shut her eyes, her shoulders trembling from the force of her crying.

“How could I? How could you?!” Henrik snapped back. “I loved you – I still love you – and you had zee nerve to go and let zhat _fucker_ defile you like zhat?”

“HE WAS ONLY ONE MONTH OLD!” 

“It vas an abomination!” He growled with distaste. “I got rid of zee problem – you should be zhanking me!” A slight pause paired with a petite chuckle. “Now I have you all to myself once again.”

“Where the fuck are Rick and the girls?!” Marta pleaded, licking at the tears that ran over her lips. “P-Please! Where are they?” She sobbed, tightening her grip on her baby boy; hanging her head out of heartache. “Where are they?”

A mocking laugh came from the other end. “Now now, don’t vorry. Everyzhing’s quite alright, Dear, I assure you. Zhere’s nozhing to vorry about.”

“Henrik, p-please, I – ”

“Vhat, you don’t really zhink I’d harm our girls, do you, Marta?” He interrupted, coming off sounding a tad upset. “I vould do no such zhing. Trudy and Ilsa are fine! Zhey’re sitting in zee ozher room. Zhey veren’t very happy to see me zhough. And I don’t like seeing my girls unhappy. So I figure I’ll give zhem both somezhing to smile about afterwards.” That idea seemed to brighten his mood. “Ve can be one happy family again!”

“H-Henrik,” Marta swallowed her agony though she was in the worst discomfort imaginable, “w-where is Rick? W-What did you – What did you do with him?”

“You’re still vondering about him?” He came off very defensive. “Vell if you really must know, ve got into a bit of an argument earlier on, and vell,” Giggling of a lunatic started up, “he seemed quite gutted to see me.”

Marta tensed up all over at hearing those words, her mind putting together terrible pictures of what he could’ve meant.

“H-Henrik, please – PLEASE d-don’t hurt – don’t hurt the girls. Please don’t, I’m b-begging you.” 

“Don’t vorry, I von’t…so long as you listen to me.” His tone darkened drastically.

“Yes, yes, alright, f-fine, I’ll,” She sniffled, a quivering, puffy-eyed mess of a woman hanging on a loose strand of hope, “I-I’ll do whatever you want, j-just don’t hurt them.”

“All I ask of you is one simple zhing, Dear.”

“W-What – What is it?”

She didn’t hear nor notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows right behind her, raising a hand armed with something and bringing it down swiftly, knocking her out cold.

“Come home vith me.”


End file.
